#he did not have mercy on ME; he has so much armor | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hopelessromantic5 · 3 months

Text

King Arthur happens to be traveling through Ealdor the exact day the citizens decide they’ve had enough of Merlin.

Labeling him too dangerous, they tied him up on the pyre in the center of town.

As long as Merlin had been alive, he’d never seen this pyre lit.

He would’ve just gotten himself out of this situation with his ‘gifts’ if it weren’t for his poor mother.

The villagers would never let her live in peace if he magically disappeared.

No, this was the only way she could go on living, even with a broken heart.

He didn’t fight. He didn’t really hear much of what they spit at him. But he could hear his mother wailing at him, to save himself, to do whatever he must do.

He’d resigned himself to an early death.

Tom, the town representative, started spewing some righteous words at him. New Religion words that didn’t quite make sense to him, but that’s to be expected. He is, himself, a creature of the old religion, if prophecy is to be trusted.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself, serpent?”

Merlin opened his mouth to tell his mother that he loved her, but he stopped short.

In the distance, he could hear a sound.

The beating of hooves on hard, cold dirt.

Visitors were approaching.

It must be fate, he thinks.

As the horses drew closer, the villagers slowly turned their attentions away from him.

Merlin simply hung his head, letting the Earth he loved so dearly decide which way his life would swing.

“What is the meaning of this?”

A calm, steady voice came from behind him. Deep and concerned. Merlin wished he could see the man.

“My lord,” Tom bowed, as well as he could, which was strange.

Upon realization, Merlin’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head, were these visitors noble? They never had nobility stay long enough to make comments on anything, only ever just passing through.

“I asked you a question.” The voice said again, with all the authority of someone who’s used to using it.

“This man is a sorcerer, sire. We were just-“

“What has he done?”

“Sire?”

“What has this man done to call for these extreme measures?” When no one answered him immediately, he rephrased.

“Surely there must’ve been a crime committed?” As if it’s a question.

Merlin’s mother pulled herself out of shock and brought herself forth.

“He did nothing, sire.” She spoke firm and unmoving. She must’ve seen hope in this man that Merlin had yet to lay eyes on. “He’s only ever used it for healing wounds and helping our gardens in the winter. Please have mercy on him, my lord. He is my only son.” Tears started falling as her voice broke. She finally met Merlin’s eyes again and he smiled at her, weakly.

“So this man-“

“Sorcerer.” Corrected Tom. What a dick.

“This man, did nothing but heal you and help you survive and this is how you repay him?”

Again no answer.

The man seemed to gesture at Tom, walking towards the town elder, and bringing him finally into Merlin’s line of sight.

The doomed boy nearly gasped.

Silver and red bled together in the sun, armor and finery melded like roses in white sand.

The man-the lord…the knight? He had golden blonde hair, that shone like it’s own light.

Blue eyes made even more obvious and striking surrounded by unblemished, sun-kissed skin.

“You seem to be leading the horde. Tell me why?” No, answer. “Cut him down.” A command. The stranger’s face was a hard, blank line.

Funny how, even then, he didn’t feel like a stranger. But Merlin was in no state to remember it.

“My lord, I do not think that would be wise. Your father was the one to wage war on magic-“

“I am not my father. Cut him down.”

Merlin swallowed. Uther Pendragon was the only person in his mind that waged the war on magic, that began the purge. Which means this man could only be his son, Prince Arthur.

What a prince he was.

Well, King, now.

No wonder every person in the vicinity practically dropped to their knees upon his arrival. They’d all heard stories of ‘The Just King’ that now reigned over Camelot. Giving whatever he could to his citizens that needed it most, never turning anyone away who seeks shelter. Merlin had heard the same as everyone else. Seeing the King in person now, he was in awe.

“I will not endanger the lives of all who live here.” Tom turns back to Merlin with the lit torch.

Merlin held his breath, but the second Tom turned away from him, the King pulled his sword. It made the loveliest sound as it left the sheath.

The sound of salvation.

Tom had the tip of a majestic blade directed right at his throat, as the King spoke again.

“I said, cut him down.”

The look on the King’s face was one that could kill.

Merlin wondered momentarily why he cared so much.

Finally someone from the crowd stepped forward with a knife and began to cut away Merlin’s ties.

Hunith leapt forward and engulfed her son in a hug, while also somewhat holding his body upright.

He did not want to let go, considering he thought he would never get to hug his mother again. But the entire village was watching them.

As was-

“What is your name?”

It was phrased as a question but spoken like a command. Merlin knew it was directed at him without opening his eyes.

He did, reluctantly, release his mother and turn to the golden King, facing deep blue eyes head on. Never cowering.

“Merlin.”

The King must’ve seen something in him. Something every other person was blind to or chose to ignore, simply because he was a peasant. He took a step closer and Merlin could hear the tiny tink of metal pieces on his shining armor, as he did so.

“Well, Merlin.” He said, as if trying it out for himself. “Seeing as I’ve just given you your life, I’d like to ask a favor.”

Merlin’s curiosity was peaked, to say the least. King’s didn’t ask favors, they took whatever they wanted.

King Arthur did not wait for a reply to continue.

“I’m in need of assistance. And I could use someone with a gift like yours, specifically.”

Merlin narrowed his eyes in minuscule doubt. Doubt of intentions, doubt of his safety.

The King somehow knowing his exact thoughts said

“Of course you would be permitted to come back when you are needed. And when I have accomplished my goal, if you wish, you can leave. I will not keep anyone against their will. I am simply offering.” A small smile played on his mouth. Flush pink lips. He also held up his hands as if to say ‘I will not harm you’.

Merlin’s gut told him to follow this man.

Terrifyingly, his intuition told him to follow this man, practically a stranger, anywhere. Everywhere.

Merlin felt a pull he’s never felt before. In the moment, he assumed it was immense gratitude for saving his life.

Merlin turned to meet his mothers eyes, he already knew what she was going to tell him.

“I think it will be good for you. To get out for a while.” She smiles softly.

“Will you be alright?” He whispered, glancing at the crowd still gathered around an unlit pyre.

“I’ll be fine.” She grabbed him in a bear hug, like she always did. “And if they boot me out, I’ll come find you.”

Merlin sighed into her shoulder.

“Alright.”

When Merlin turned back, the King had turned his eyes to the ground, giving mother and son a moment of privacy.

Merlin was starting to warm to him already.

“Can I pack first?”

King Arthur met his gaze then, doing that half smile thing, again.

“I suppose.” He nodded. “But don’t dawdle we need to move if we want to make it back before sundown.”

“Yes, sire.” The title which usually held reverence and respect, was laced with sarcasm. He didn’t seem to think twice, as he strode away towards their hut to gather his things.

If Merlin had looked back, he would’ve found a fully beaming King looking after him and about six knights with faces of complete shock.

And perhaps, one knowing mother.

#merthur #merlin #arthur pendragon #merthur fic #merlin and arthur #hunith #king arthur #Ealdor #might continue #longer version will probably be on ao3

1K notes · View notes

deadghosy · 3 months

Text

HEADCANNONS TEEN! READER LEARNING HOW TO DRIVE

various x gn! teen reader

LUCIFER

• Tried to teach you how to drive only for you to drive into a wall.

• Pretty much he has a helmet on with body armor and his seltbelt on saying sum,

"safety first!"🤓

• He would react calm to you driving ike a bat from hell as he gives you tips. Only for you to use the tips horribly.

• He revoked your driving license and privileges.

CHARLIE

• She asked you to go get some stuff for her only for you to ram the car into the hotel upstairs.

• HOW THE FUCK DID YOU EVEN GET UP THERE?!

• She screamed out of shock but calmed down seeing your gremlin ass smile as you hopped out the car holding out whatever she wanted you to get for her.

• She also revoked your driving privileges and license. She doesn't want anyone hurt or yourself.

VAGGIE

• She already revoked it the moment you drove into an old demon lady.

• She's not risking SHIT!

• She tried to help you again but you pressed the gas so hard you almost flew out the driving seat.

• So yeah she revoked ya shit, even the keys.

ALASTOR

• Absolutely NO.

• He's not stepping foot into your car.

• He might as well slash your tire with a sick smile cause he doesn't trust you driving at fucking all.

• Literally just teleports you to the places you want. He ain't risking nothing if he wants to live from your terrible driving.

HUSK

• He was drunk, and you were sober. Next thing this fucker woke up to was you inside of a shop's wall chuckling nervously...

• "What in the fu-"

• You guys had to walk to the hotel handing the keys to Charlie who is just happy you and husk are okay.

• Husk never trusted you to be his Uber.

ANGEL DUST

• Lord have mercy

Angel better pray you don't come across Valentino because your driving is so bad to the point you accidentally almost hit Valentino.

• Angel was in the car on his phone scrolling through hellgram (instagram) when he heard you cuss loudly and swerve almost hitting his boss Valentino.

• You speeded the fuck out of there while

Angel's eyes were wide as a pizza. Bro hoped Valentino didn't know who was in the car. But you chuckled a little.

• "I kinda wished I ran that motherfucker over."

• Angel nodded chuckling as he sits properly in the passenger seat.

ADAM

• This fucker literally was the driver...he rammed into your apartment as you screamed shock.

• "SUP BITCHHH!"

• Literally you forced him to fix your wall as he mumbles cuss words under his breath.

• But if you are a worse driver than him. He's gripping the fuck out his seat while either screaming of fun or fear.

PENTIOUS

• He passed out scared.

• YOU CANT TELL ME HE WOULDN'T PASS

OUT

• He is such a precious boy holding onto the car door to the point his hands are sweaty for holding it for so long.

• His egg boiz are having a blast in the background as they jump in the backseat while you do this shit like Tokyo drift. Like shiiit you might as well join fast and furious.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel adam x reader #hazbin hotel headcanons #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin hotel lucifer x reader #hazbin hotel x child reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin x you #hazbin angel dust #hazbin lucifer #hazbin husk #hazbin vaggie #hazbin charlie #child reader #teen reader

731 notes · View notes

kneelingshadowsalome · 2 months

Note

Salome!

"La Belle Dame sans Mercy" ("The Beautiful Lady Without Mercy") - A ballad by John Keats

"The poem is about a fairy who condemns a knight to an unpleasant fate after she seduces him with her eyes and singing." please

This screams Knight!König x Fairy!Reader to me.

I just know König would gladly die by the hand of such an ethereal being.

"She looked at me as she did love, and made a sweet moan."

"And sure in language strange she said—'I love thee true.'"

That’s it. Thank you.

I swear this artwork kills me everytime I see it....

Ok this became the silliest fairytale ever 🩷✨️

CW: Historical AU blending with mythical/supernatural AU. König being a dreamy mess of a knight who doesn't fit in "normal" society. Reader is part of faefolk. Heavy Arthurian Romance vibes.

König returns to the castle one day. The son of a great liege lord, a warrior through and through, but some people say he should’ve been a poet: so dreamily he looks beyond the battlements at times, sighs after drinking too much wine, stares off into dark corners of the room while tending to his sword and armour as if he can see little pixies dancing there.

His siblings sometimes hit him on the back of his head, or wave a hand over his eyes when he’s about to slip into the fairy world, a forgotten plane that is not supposed to reach the castle. But the castle stones were taken from the moors and the woods, the old land not bending to the priest’s will no matter how many crosses they brought here. Fragile souls are wanton prey for the elves and the fairies who would take them to their land the moment they drop down their guard, and only prayer and fasting hold them at bay. In the fairylands, there is no toil or sorrow; the food is golden honey and wine, the dance and love everlasting, and the fae girls more beautiful than any human maid.

It sounded too good to be true, and it was: God had created men to work and women to give birth, and all the land was theirs to use and cultivate, it was not made to simply run and frolic upon. Some say that these were just old tales and that Christ would banish these creatures away, turn the land to yielding crops and tame firewood.

But some still believed.

When he was a child, the mighty son of the feared lord took porridge and almonds to the woods. “For the fairy people,” he said with bright, trusting eyes. Stole food from under the mistress’s nose, and no one ever dared to say anything about it.

But when this nonsense carried on to adulthood, people had to intervene. There was work to be done, war, harvest and building, and no matter how many coins this man paid to the visiting bards, it would never turn their stories true.

His arm was strong and his strike was true, but his head seemed to be filled with dandelion wine, even when he hadn’t been drinking. Sighed after this maiden or that, wished to travel to foreign lands, courted every nobleman’s daughter who visited the castle, but no one ever took him seriously.

This man had to watch how lady after lady chose some other valiant knight as their husband, some men whose heads were not filled with fairytales and dreams. They did flirt with him, for who could’ve resisted the temptation of making this giant a little sweaty under all that armor? Armor that demanded plate for two people, and a smith who had the talent to forge such a beastly thing.

Nevertheless, he was always left without a warm embrace, and so he was usually found outside, looking at the full moon or spending time in taverns, choosing the company of thieves and rascals over his serious kin.

And now he has returned from the woods, having been gone for months.

People thought he had finally left to fight for some other lord, posing as a simple footsoldier, a disguise that would relieve him of his tedious duties as a knight. Or to court some “lovely peasant girl” he always talked about – such talks were usually crushed by his father, demanding him to be sensible for once in his life.

But he doesn’t prattle about peasant girls now, nor does he ramble about screaming ships at the bottom of the sea. He doesn’t hold a speech about forgotten stone circles in the forest, the ones that already grow moss. No, he has finally lost it completely.

His eyes are wild, as is his hair; his armour is nowhere to be seen, and his sword is without its sheath. He doesn’t talk about what he saw in that forest to anyone, nor is he willing to tell where he has even been these past few moons.

He seems very shaken when he’s told they were worried he wouldn’t make it to the May Day feast, and asks for how long he was gone, drives a hand through dishevelled hair when he hears that he was away for three full months.

“Three months…” he mutters to himself, then leaves to his room, the huge sword dragging against the stone floor as he goes. He has always, always made sure it wouldn’t dull, but now he’s treating it like it’s become a part of him, confused and lost.

He doesn’t eat, hardly speaks after that.

The food tastes like ash, he says, and the ale tastes like bile. But the following evening, when his mother orders someone to pour her poor son some more wine, he looks up helplessly like a child.

“I have to go back,” he says.

A clamour arises, huffed exclaims of “What on earth is he on about” and “Sir, you only just got back!” His father rises from his chair and orders him to stop this nonsense at once. But this time, there is no embarrassed sweep of hand through hair, no red colour that rises on this peculiar knight’s cheeks. His lips only make a thin line before he rises as well and leaves the hall with a weight on his shoulders and dark determination in his stare.

At the stables, a stout Moorland pony and poor stable boy get to witness the drunken bawls of a forlorn knight. The wine sack almost slips from his hands to the dirt as he slumps against the timber of the stall, distorted face coming to rest against a wide, shaky palm.

Luckily, a friend of his knows where to look, and the stable boy sneaks into the shadows, slightly scared of the sorrow of such a big, intimidating man.

But even the companion who always listened to every enthusiastic story since they were kids and ran across the moors, throwing little rocks at his father’s soldiers and laughing when their helmets made a funny clinky sound, can not understand the drunken babble that comes out of König’s mouth this time.

He starts from the middle, which is highly unusual, and talks in strings of sentences that don’t make sense. “She was real, I just know it,” he repeats, over and over again in the middle of confessions about how beautiful she was, how her hair was like the softest spun yarn, her body incredible, naked and wild when she came to him. That her laugh was like the chime of little bells or the sound of the loveliest harp, a song on its own when she walked to him.

She was fascinated with his sword, especially the pommel and the handle interested her, and the curve in the middle of the blade she brushed with her fingers as if it was an entire vale.

He had never seen a woman touch his sword like that… They were never interested in such things, but she was, and she asked him so many questions.

Had he ever felled a tree?

Did he like squirrels?

Were his thighs as hairy as his chest?

She took him down the river, or he followed her; he can’t remember. Her step was so light it didn’t make a sound, and the moss seemed to turn brighter every time her little foot stepped on it. Her hands were tiny too when she wrapped them around his neck, pressed her body against his, and kissed him until there was nothing left of him: no helmet, no sword, nothing but sun and her, her hands and her lips.

Her mouth was still on his when she whispered she didn’t like his armour because it was so hard and rigid and cold, oh, she wondered if there was a man inside there at all.

So of course he showed her.

She giggled at the sight of him, especially his thighs, knelt down on the moss to see how hairy they were.

And would you believe the way she touched him then? It makes him heady even now…

Yes, he took her. But not the way a man takes a woman. She came to straddle him and laughed again, and the things they did together… He can’t even speak about them, but he knows the sun always shined when they rolled on the grass. Her giggles and moans surrounded him, her soft little thighs were stronger than they looked, her breasts so round and soft, so perfect he swore he had gone to heaven.

He bathed in her, with her, all day long. And the nights… You wouldn’t believe the nights: there was song and dance and more giggling women, and also a man dressed all in leaves, so big and thick he first thought he was a tree. An old king, she said, nothing he should worry about. And the wine tasted like summer and honey and gold; it was red, perhaps, but also like sea amber and sun…

She fed him flowers and laughed, caressed his face and said he’s the biggest and hairiest human she had ever seen. She let him lick honey from her fingertips and caressed him with heather and ivy, opened her mouth before feeding him a soft, sweet piece of cake, showing him how he needed to open his mouth as well if he wanted it on his tongue.

She kissed the crumbs from his lips and trailed a finger down his chest, all the way down, until…

Oh, he can’t talk about it.

It was better than he ever even imagined: better than the stories they tell in the taverns. It was like his wedding night, over and over again, it was like he was Lancelot, and she was his Guinevere.

No, no, she was not an enchantress, although everything about her was enchanting... All the stories came alive with her, even the moon was bigger than anywhere he’d ever seen, the deers ran past them while they made love, and the birds sang even at night.

He told her he loved her, but she didn’t know what it meant. When he explained it to her, she looked at him gently, so gently…

He cried from joy then, but she never mocked him. She only said it’s a sign that he’s hers. That he will never forget her. She said he’ll always find her, even when he’s old: she will make him young again. He’s welcome here if he wants: she has so many places to show him.

He thanked all the saints for having found her, Saint George and Saint Mary first, but stopped when her little brows furrowed with sorrow. Her eyes, filled with starlight and love, turned so sad that his heart couldn’t bear it, not for one beat.

The sea is far wilder here: he should come and see the ocean as it was at the dawn of time. The ivy is so strong you can use it to climb the trees and see the whole world from atop the tree, the whole land, covered in forest, such as it was before humans came. There’s no smoke or fire or war: just green everywhere, wild rippling streams and honey bees and berries and fish for everyone who ever feels hungry... They can make love day and night, and she’ll teach him all the songs of old. Humans only remember bits and pieces, but she knows how things really happened, she can tell him everything about heroes, kings and queens.

She said she wanted to sleep, and so he took her from the feast and laid her on the grass… She might’ve sung to him, he can’t remember, but it was like an angel’s caress all over him, somber and sweet before the dreams took him, a dream within a dream.

He slept for ages, it seemed, saw so many dreams, each more beautiful than the last until he woke up and saw that the forest had turned grey.

There was no maiden in his lap, no dance and song in the distance, no scent of flowers and dreams and springs to be found. The sun was up in the sky, but it didn’t paint all the colours with gold or fill the streams with light. The forest was half dead to him, just old, thick trees around him, a green-grey forest floor and a shaggy squirrel who chirped and squeaked at him as if it was his fault that the fae folk were gone.

He searched for her, called for her, but she didn’t answer, and how could she have? He didn’t even know her name. He only knew how lovely she felt, how soft her hair was when it fell to cover him like a veil, how adorable her sighs and tiny little gasps were when he filled her, over and over again.

His armour was nowhere to be found, and his sword was somewhere downstream, half covered with leaves and dirt, rusty and beaten by the wind. It was early spring when he came here; the land was still barren and grey, but now, everything was green. Still, it was not the green he wanted. It was not the green that filled his vision entirely, bright, blooming green that pulsed with lush joy. It was just… earth and grass and dirt.

So you see, he has to go back. He has to find her, whatever it takes. She promised he could always come back… She promised…

He cries once more, head bowed and mighty shoulders trembling from the force of his sorrow, and it is no use to tell him that the fae folk are evil. That they’re from the Devil and only want to make good, decent men like them forget. Forget their duty, their laws, their Christ.

It’s no use to tell him that it is not natural, the place he has seen. No doubt he has been somewhere, but it cannot be anything good… No man can survive on flowers and spring water for three months; they cannot frolic with the faeries for days on end without losing their mind and soul.

And König is already lost; he was lost since he was a child, rambling about how he received flowers, sticks and stones as tokens of the faefolk’s gratitude because he brought them food.

He tries to tell the boy who never grew up, the mightiest man in this kingdom, the dreamiest knight there ever was, that he needs to return to the real world. No fae woman would have him as a husband, they are only after his soul. But surely some human lady would take him into her bed, think about it, for God’s sake, please... He has duties here, people who love him, his father would make him a lord if he only put himself together. What kind of knight would abandon his sword, helmet and armour for the sake of an elf who despises the saints...?

But in the morn, König is gone.

His rusty sword is on the floor, the wooden cross taken off the wall. There lies a honeycomb and a flower on his window, a blossom so sweet it cannot be plucked from any field around here. Too exotic and bright, especially when placed atop the rough, grey stones, it looks like it could never wither from how beautifully it blooms.

The peasants now tell a tale of a man that haunts the woods: a huge giant dressed all in green, donning a leaf cloak of some sort and a beard that grows ivy. But they say he is not evil: he only shows himself to hunters who are about to fall a deer, or children who remember the land with little gifts.

Old men say they saw a green man when they were kids and brought bread and milk to the faeries, they swear to this day they saw a man who greeted them with a smile. And when they looked again, there was nothing but a tree where this giant stook, a young oak, sighing with the wind...

#könig x reader #könig x you #mythology au #arthurian au #historical au

407 notes · View notes

cuubism · 10 months

Text

literally just smut, dreamling, prince/knight dynamic, uh. lowkey virginity kink. lowkey degradation kink. yeah.

The war camp is dark, the tent only barely lit by a few scant candles, but Hob is wide awake.

It had been a fantastically successful battle, that day. Much needed after a string of losses. They’d absolutely destroyed the enemy, Hob’s only just managed to clean most of the blood off himself—and he’s still riding that high hours later, blood pumping, restless energy racing as he occupies himself cleaning his armor and his sword.

Technically, he could get someone else to do these menial tasks. He’s a knight, he’s of high enough rank to request it. But Hob’s always believed a man should tend to his own weapons, should know every piece of them. It’s the same reason he takes care of his own horse, and his own tack.

Besides, the repetitive motion of the cleaning is taking the edge off.

There’s another thing that can cut the edge of the battle high.

Sex.

How fortunate, then, that Hob is on good terms with so many of the working ladies of the camp.

Not that it’s really so hard to be on good terms. The bar is so low that simply not behaving like a total dick seems to do the trick—but the fact remains that when Hob calls for one of the messenger boys who hang around outside to send for whoever’s working that night, he knows someone will come by. He pays them well, he gets along with most everyone, and it’s really not that hard to get one’s prick wet under those circumstances.

He’s just finished oiling the final leather straps on his armor, is hanging it up to await the next fight, when he hears the entrance flap of the tent, to his back, swish open and shut again. The rush of cool night air into the warm, close space.

“Be right with you, luv,” he calls, tying off the last strap, and a deep, sonorous voice responds—

“Please, take your time, Ser Gadling.”

Hob whirls around, nearly falls over like a buffoon he goes so fast. Standing there is not one of the working girls he’s come to know. It is, in fact, Prince fucking Morpheus, dark hair tousled by the wind, wrapped in a long velvet cloak that sparkles like stardust where the light catches it.

“My prince,” Hob stammers, trying to decide whether he’s meant to bow and managing only a dip of the head. It’s Prince Morpheus’s fault, this awkwardness, Hob would have managed with perfect politeness the sudden arrival of one of his siblings, or even the King himself. It’s only Morpheus that fells him so. “I—”

“—called for a whore?” Morpheus finishes, quirking a brow. Hob can only describe the look in his eyes as mischievous.

Anything Hob might have possibly managed to say is derailed by the rush of interest to his dick. That look, that phrase in Morpheus’s pretty, proper mouth— and what is he implying—?

“That’s… not the word I’d use,” Hob finally manages, throat tight. “Did. Did you need something, my prince?”

“As I’ve said,” repeats Morpheus, taking a fluid step closer to him. And he’s— he’s fucking barefoot in the grass. Lord have mercy. “You called for a whore.”

Hob should step back. Instead he’s rooted to the spot. Paralyzed by a swirling mix of fear and arousal. “That’s not— you’re not—”

Morpheus keeps advancing on him, liquid and predatory. The deep vee of his robe suggests he’s wearing nothing underneath. He’s got some kind of glitter under his eyes. And he’s— he’s so beautiful. Hob has always thought so, especially on that one blessed night when—

“Do you think me not a whore?” says Morpheus. He says it with allure, almost pride, not shame. “Do you think, my knight, that I have never slunk into some lord’s bed to steal secrets? That I have never used my body to seal an alliance, when my words were not sufficient?”

Hob should be horrified at the thought of his prince debased so. Instead, the image of Morpheus on his knees flashes through his mind, and he bites the inside of his cheek to keep from whining. “That’s not— the same,” he manages.

“Is it not?” Hob’s ankles hit his bedroll and he trips back, falling on his ass and bracing himself on his elbows, and Morpheus follows him, crawling up Hob’s body in a long, sinuous movement, the velvet of his robe soft wherever it touches his skin. “People can make sex their trade for coin, but it is different when I offer myself up in exchange for goods or laws or partnerships?”

If that’s all the case, Hob should find out what Morpheus wants with him now. Instead he asks, breathless, taken in by Morpheus’s eyes, “What did you trade for, then, my prince?” Maybe Hob doesn’t care what Morpheus wants with him. Maybe he only cares that Morpheus wants him. “When you let a foreign king bed you, did you use your mouth?” He touches Morpheus’s lips with his fingertips, and Morpheus smiles, sharp and pleased. “Or did you let him fuck you?”

The thought is as jealousy-inducing as it is arousing. Hob has no right to be jealous about his prince. But.

“What I needed to,” says Morpheus. “I have learned how to bait my lures. Many kings, I have learned, like to ruin pretty young men. Do you know—” he taps a fingertip along Hob’s lips “—how many times I have ‘sold’ my virginity? Played the hapless youth desperate for an older man to teach him, to use him?”

Fuck. Fucking hell.

“And did you learn?” Hob asks, hyperfocused on every point where their bodies are touching.

Morpheus tilts his head at him, suddenly all innocence. “Learn what?”

And, well. He does know how to bait his lures, it turns out. Even knowing he’s sinking his mouth onto a hook, Hob growls and flips them, pushing Morpheus down into the sheets. Morpheus lets out a startled breath that Hob’s pretty sure is affected but still succeeds in sending a thrill through him, and a powerful sense—careful, delicate, don’t hurt him. Even though the small part of Hob’s brain that’s still checked in to reason knows well that Morpheus is the one truly in control of whatever’s going on here.

“Should I teach you, then?” he asks, dragging a hand through Morpheus’s hair— so soft. “Show you how good I can make you feel?”

“Please,” Morpheus breathes, wrapping a delicate hand around the back of his neck. Hob really hopes he isn’t going to get drawn and quartered for this. Might be worth it, though. He doesn’t want to die, but if there were a way to go… “Hob, please.”

Fuck, his name in that wanting mouth.

“Got my mouth on you last time,” he muses, the sense memory of Morpheus’s prick on his tongue rushing through him, the hard press of the palace flagstones on his knees, “think I can show you something new, now.”

“I defer to your experience,” Morpheus breathes, as Hob pulls open his heavy velvet robe. As he’d thought, Morpheus isn’t wearing anything under it, and the thought of him walking through the camp like that to get here makes Hob want to bite something. Morpheus makes him so base and irrational.

Hob hadn’t gotten nearly this far last time. Had simply pulled open the ties on Morpheus’s breeches, let his prince tug on his hair as Hob took him in his mouth. Now, he has Morpheus fully unveiled to him, like a gift, like an offering, and, just like an offering, Morpheus stretches, arches his back, long limbs in relief and his cock laying hard against the crease of his thigh. He’s so pristine, always tucked away in his palace, where Hob has been out in the trenches—literally—getting sun-tanned and rough and dirty.

Although. Not so pristine as Hob might have thought. Apparently.

“You’re beautiful,” Hob tells him. “Your body is beautiful. I can’t wait to show you what I can do with it.”

Morpheus shudders, keeps playing along with their little facade of inexperience. “Will you ruin me for other men, Robert Gadling? Defile me, destroy my reputation so no respectable lord or lady will ever dare take me as their spouse?”

“You came crawling to my bed, pretty thing,” Hob says. Nips at Morpheus’s belly, which makes him cry out, such a pretty, keening sound, and then soothes where he’d bitten with lips and tongue. “You’ve been wanting it, I think. Someone to take you down, someone to fuck you.”

“Perhaps I simply wanted to reward my favorite knight,” Morpheus says, trailing off into a groan as Hob leaves another mark low on his pelvis.

“Should have told me you were the prize for valor,” Hob says. “I’d have killed twice as many men. Come to your bedroom still covered in the blood I spilled in your name.”

Morpheus actually moans at the image. “I’d have had you that way. My knight.”

“You can have me now.” It’s tempting, to do as he did last time, and take Morpheus into his mouth. But Hob wants to do something different to him. And he has the sense that Morpheus wants something different done. “Go on. On your belly.”

Morpheus’s breath leaves him in a shuddering rush, but he does as Hob says. Hob runs his hands down over his smooth back, his ass, his wiry thighs, kneeling between them and pushing them further apart. Morpheus whines, moving his hips in little circles to get the barest amount of friction on the sheets.

“You need it so badly.” Hob parts Morpheus’s cheeks with his thumbs, rubs over his hole, and Morpheus keens. “Don’t you?”

“Yes. Yes, Hob, show me—”

Hob swipes the oil from the bag beside the bed—because yes, he is prepared for these sorts of things, if not specifically for his prince showing up—and dips his fingers in. Rubs them together to warm it, then slides one finger into Morpheus, without pause, straight to the first knuckle.

Morpheus lets out a choked gasp, fingers clenching in the sheets. The sound makes Hob’s cock twitch where it’s already straining in his breeches. “Hob—” he moans, strangled, “Hob, I—”

He starts to lift himself up, and Hob pushes him down with a hand on the back of his neck. Morpheus struggles for a moment and then goes boneless under him. Hob releases him and strokes his hair. “Good boy. You want it, don’t you?”

“Y-yes,” Morpheus says shakily, pushing back on Hob’s hand when he starts working that finger inside him. “Please. Please.”

“I’ll take care of you,” Hob promises. Having Morpheus, his prince, his beautiful prince, splayed out under him like this is heady. If he weren’t so focused on Morpheus’s reactions, he might have lost his grip on his own arousal already. “But you’re mine.”

He slides another finger in, and Morpheus moans raggedly. Hob doesn’t know if he’s truly getting overwhelmed or if he’s still trying to play the clueless virgin, but either way it’s burning through Hob’s veins. He gets Morpheus writhing on his fingers, achingly hard in his own pants, taking each of Morpheus’s pleasured, crying moans as its own prize.

Morpheus is shaking, panting, as Hob pulls his hips up, undoes the laces on his own breeches to pull out his cock, lines himself up. Morpheus presses his face into the bed, fingers tight in the sheets. Hob touches his lips to the base of his spine, tastes the sweat there. “My prince?”

Morpheus swallows hard and it still doesn’t seem to clear his throat. “I am ready.”

So Hob braces his hips and pushes in, one long slow slide. He groans at the same time as Morpheus moans, so ragged it’s almost pained. “Fuck you’re tight.”

“Well,” says Morpheus, “you are the first to have me so.”

Even aware that Morpheus is only playing at it, the words make Hob feel like he’s clinging to sanity by a thread. “You’ve been waiting so long, haven’t you?” he manages, as he starts to move, still holding Morpheus by the hips. Morpheus sighs at the slide, thighs trembling. It’s enough to make Hob obsessed. Morpheus is so tight and hot, Hob really doesn’t know how long he’s going to last, but he’s determined to give Morpheus just a bit of that ruination first. “Waiting for the right cock to fill you?”

Morpheus pushes back on him with a whine. “Yes.”

“Kept yourself as a prize for me?”

“Yes. Hob.”

Hob reaches around to take him in hand, and Morpheus cries out, bucking into his touch, pinned in place. Hob moves faster, each thrust pushing Morpheus into his grip, his breeches scraping roughly over Morpheus’s bare thighs, and it feels so base to have him like this, still clothed, taking him like a casual whore when he’s a prince. It feels wrong. But so good.

“How’s it feel?” he asks, voice gratifyingly steady. “For your first time?”

Morpheus lets out a wordless groan. Then, “Good. So much. I—” he trails off again, losing his breath. And this, too, is gratifying, reducing Morpheus, usually so eloquent, to broken sentences and simple words.

“Good, love.” Hob soothes a hand over his hip. “That’s good.”

But before Morpheus can settle, Hob increases his pace, pounding into him so hard and fast that Morpheus loses what remains of his balance and is held in place only by Hob’s hand on his hip, his arm wrapped around his belly. Each thrust pulls a sharp gasp from him, his face pushed into the sheets— and Hob’s nearly insensate with how good it is, but still he manages to pull Morpheus off in time with each thrust.

“Hob—” Morpheus chokes, “Hob, I’m—”

“You can come, love. I want to see you.”

Morpheus comes with a bitten-off cry, spilling over Hob’s hand. He’s so beautiful like that, Hob’s formal, perfect prince—crumpled in pleasure, eyes screwed shut, hair damp with sweat. It’s a collision of every illicit thought Hob’s swallowed down when he’s looked at him. In the palace, on campaign, at times when he was meant to be guarding Morpheus and when he wasn’t. He can’t last long thinking about that, seeing that, so he bends low over Morpheus’s back and kisses the back of his neck. One small, tender touch in this game of roughness and transaction, one touch before Morpheus inevitably swans back out of his tent, back to his writing and his diplomacy and his other diplomacy, and— fuck—

Hob holds Morpheus to him as he comes, wishing he could say, don’t go back to anyone else. You’re mine now, come to me. But those aren’t his words to say.

Morpheus slumps down to the bed, boneless and satisfied. Hob follows him, breathing hard against the back of his neck, finally releasing him from under his weight. Morpheus only winces a little when he pulls out, and Hob yanks off his own shirt and uses it to wipe off Morpheus’s stomach, between his thighs. Morpheus sighs, tipping his head back, a tiny smile on his face, then turns to face Hob, leaning on his arm.

Hob’s swiftly learning how weak he is for that smile on the face of the usually unreadable prince. He trails an exploratory finger along Morpheus’s jaw, up his temple, into his hair. Morpheus closes his eyes at the touch, slow and sleepy.

“Was that better than your many transactional trysts?” Hob asks. “Or do I have work to do?”

“I would not know,” says Morpheus, a self-satisfied little smile now curling on his lips. “Considering those did not occur.”

Hob blinks hard, mind going blank. “What.”

“I spun you a story, Robert,” Morpheus says. His voice is sex-rough, his hair a mess, his gaze drags over Hob’s body with a proprietary touch. “And it is a fun story, is it not? Plying secrets from between the sheets, returning home victorious when one was thought to be had. And,” he drags a fingertip down the center of Hob’s chest, “coming back to the bed of a lover. One whom one wants to be with. To be made his again.”

Hob is still stuck on this. “Wait, are you telling me you made all that up?”

Morpheus smirks. “Do you truly think that my words would ever be insufficient to obtain what this kingdom needs? Do you think I need to use my mouth other ways to get treaties signed?”

Well, when he puts it like that.

“It was a compelling story, though,” Morpheus muses as Hob continues gaping at him. “You seemed compelled.”

“Morpheus, why?”

“I wanted to see how my favorite knight would respond to knowing other men had had me,” he says, and keeps dragging his fingers through Hob’s chest hair in self-soothing patterns. Then his expression shifts from clever to almost shy. “And. I thought that if you knew the truth, you might defer too much to me. Treat me only like your prince.”

Hob’s stomach swoops. “And… what’s the truth, then?”

“That evening at the state dinner, when someone meant me harm and you saved me…” his voice holds a note of wonder now. “That. Was the first time that I had ever.”

“What?” He can’t lie to himself, the thought of being Morpheus’s first, for real, does spark something in him. But also. Morpheus is a prince. And Hob had been…

“I had never before had cause,” Morpheus explains. “I was uninterested in marriage. And I never found anyone worth threatening my reputation over. Until…” His lips purse, stressed now. “And I wanted you so. And. You wanted me.”

Hob is speechless, running through every second of that night in his mind. Sweeping Morpheus into his arms and out of the way of a blade. Morpheus’s wide eyes staring at the slice in Hob’s arm, the blood welling there. Blinking and finding himself crowded into a side hall, Morpheus panting into his mouth, the hunger of his pretty lips, heat and adrenaline running through Hob’s body, pushing Morpheus against the wall and sinking to his knees in front of his charge, his dear, his prince to worship. The tears that had pricked at Morpheus’s eyes as Hob had taken him all the way down.

Christ.

“Does that bother you?” Morpheus asks, uncertain now.

“I’d have shown you a better time then if I’d known,” Hob says, because doesn’t he deserve to be properly taken care of? “In an actual bed.”

Morpheus lets out a little huff of a laugh, expression easing. “I enjoyed it.”

“And then…” he lets his hand come to rest low on Morpheus’s waist. “You came back for more.” He kisses Morpheus and swallows his pleased sigh. “Hungry little thing.”

Morpheus’s breath shudders, and he clings to Hob’s hair, his shoulders. Hob’s about to roll on top of him again and kiss him properly, maybe more once they’ve recovered themselves, but pauses as a realization sinks in. “Wait. Does that mean—”

“Yes, Hob. You were the first man to fuck me.” He sighs. “Use that information against me if you wish. It is out of my hands, now.”

Hob is reeling with shock, and even more so with arousal, heat flashing through his body at the mere thought that all Morpheus had pretended at, newness and learning and raw, unpracticed want, had been, at least somewhat, real. And he had let Hob have that. Catch it. Had trusted him.

“Never,” Hob swears, kissing his cheek. “I would never. You’ll be my secret. Besides. I don’t think anyone would ever believe me even if I said. Me, with you? A prince? And a gorgeous one at that?”

Morpheus runs his hands over Hob’s shoulders. “You are handsome. And very gallant. I do not see what you mean.”

“Well, that’s flattering. And I won’t tell you to take it back.”

Morpheus runs his tongue over his lower lip, eyes dark where they trace over Hob’s jaw, shoulders, chest. “I have. Wanted you from afar. For a very long time.”

Obligingly, Hob kisses him, and sweeps his hands over Morpheus’s lower back, drawing him close. “You’re a prince,” he says, breathless again with want for this wonderful being. “You can have whatever you want.”

“So,” Morpheus nuzzles at his jaw, “I may steal my way into your bed? You would not mind that, Ser Gadling?”

“Sneak in, or stay, I won’t mind. I’ll give you all my secrets.”

Morpheus hums. “And your loyalty?”

Hob thinks he means it playfully, a continuation of his ruse from before—but it comes out much more serious. His gaze finds Hob’s with a deeper wanting than when he’d swanned into Hob’s tent, all draped fabric and fluid lines of desire.

“You have it already,” Hob murmurs, and Morpheus’s pleased sigh as Hob kisses him is a balm to his soul. “My prince.”

#if i don't post this attempt at 'just smut' now i'll end up crawling into a hole and eating the crumpled paper of it instead #just doing smut outside of a plot is like so hard mad respect to the people who write smut oneshots damn #dreamling #nsft #dream of the endless #hob gadling #ye olde prince/knight dynamic #my writing #this fic is actually absurd i'm sorry. but if at least one (1) person thinks this is hot i'll consider it a success. it only takes 1 #im cringe but im free

500 notes · View notes

howlingday · 4 months

Text

White Knight Marital Bliss

Setting - Jaune and Weiss have been married for decades and their chemistry is pretty much Mung Daal and Truffles from Chowder.

---------------------------------------

Jaune: She wants to go out with me?! Well, come on, out with it! Who is she? Is she cute?

Adrian: No, she's icky!

Jaune: Icky, huh? Well, it's a good thing I'm a married man.

Adrian: What if you weren't married?

Jaune: If I wasn't married? (Starry-eyed, Giggles)

Weiss: (Summons glyph)

Jaune: (Whacked in the head) I LOVE YOU, BABY~!

---------------------------------------

Jaune: Weiss, mind the home and hearth! I'm heading into town. We need more spice!

Weiss: ...Well, I'm glad at least one of us is willing to admit it.

---------------------------------------

Weiss: What's with all the yelling?!

Jaune: Not to worry, my beautiful snow angel, your knight in shining armor is on the case!

Weiss: Ugh! I don't have time to wait for him! You do it instead!

---------------------------------------

Jaune: Providing support is Weiss, better known as "The Mouth".

Weiss: "The Mouth"?! What is that supposed to mean?! YOU SAYING I'M LOUD?! I'M NOT LOUD, YOU'RE LOUD! (Barking)

---------------------------------------

Jaune: I'll do whatever it takes for you to stop ruining Griffball!

Weiss: We'll see about that! You're going down, old man!

Jaune: No! You're going down, older woman!

Weiss: No, you are!

Jaune: No, you are!

Weiss: NO, YOU!

Jaune: NO, YOU!

The two then proceed to furiously make-out in the middle of the playing field. They then shove each other off, simultaneously shouting "Get off me!"

---------------------------------------

Weiss: Is everything ready for my elegant Atlesian lady debutante association luncheon, my big, strong, cuddly-wuddly, poopsy-woopsy yummy boo-boo bear~?

Jaune: Ready and able, my lovely snow angel~! No need to worry because everything will be perfect!

Weiss: (Sobs into his chest) Oh, thank you~! You have no idea what it's like to be surrounded by ugly men all day, every day!

Ren: (Stops, Stares at Weiss)

Adrian: (Stops, Stares at Weiss)

Weiss: (Pulls away) So, my wonderful knight, just for today, don't make me come into this kitchen for any reason at all. OR I'LL RIP YOUR HEAD OFF.

Jaune: ...Uh, I love you, too?

Weiss: (Kisses him, Skips away giggling)

Jaune: ...Oh god, they're here. REN, RUN OVER THERE! ADRIAN, PUT YOUR CLOTHES BACK ON!

Jaune: Remember, if Mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy! (Points at you) NOT EVEN YOU!

---------------------------------------

Weiss: Oh, and one other thing. If I hear any of you say anything bad about my husband or his hard work, so help me, I will hunt you all down, rip your arms off and poke you with them until you cry for mercy! NOW GET OUT!

---------------------------------------

Jaune: Oh! Oh! You did not just give me the hand! Ooh! Ooh! It's on now, GIRL-FRIEND! (Picks up rock, Tosses a feet)

Cinder: Ha! You throw like an old woman!

Weiss: That is not true! I throw MUCH better than he can! (Uses glyph to lift boulder, Bullseye)

---------------------------------------

Weiss: Jaune?! WHY YOU...

Jaune: Um! Uh! This is a dream!

Weiss: No... You're NEVER in my dreams!

---------------------------------------

Jaune: Great... She's using fireworks.

Weiss: I completely forgot what fireworks are.

Weiss: In my marriage!

Weiss: WHO SAID THAT?!

---------------------------------------

Jaune: No.

Weiss: Yes!

Jaune: No!

Weiss: Yes!

Adrian: Fight! Fight!

DING!

Jaune: (Limbers up in one corner)

Weiss: (Barking in the other)

Jaune: (Pinned by Weiss)

Weiss: (Spider-Man kicks him)

Jaune: (Broken over her knee)

Ren: (Holding Weiss' hand high)

Weiss: We will do the mission!

---------------------------------------

Adrian: Uncle Jaune, are women always this emotionally draining?

Jaune: No! Of course not!

Weiss: (Opens faucet in Jaune's chest, Fills cup with emotions) Ah~!

Adrian: (Watches in horror)

---------------------------------------

Adrian: I'm back! Here's the white-haired melon you needed!

Jaune: But we already put in the white-haired- Uh-oh... (Opens oven)

Weiss: (Inside the oven, Growling)

Jaune: (Slams shut) Not done yet! Adrian, we need to talk about your shot attention span-

Ren: Mhm.

Weiss: (Inside the oven) OH, DARLING~!

Jaune: RUN, MAN! RUN!

---------------------------------------

Jaune: Oh hiya, Weiss! Did you have a good trip to the store?

Weiss: Mhm. Yup. No problems at all.

Weiss: EXCEPT FOR THE PART WHERE MY GIANT BUTT WRECKED THE TOWN!

Jaune: Your what did who know?

Weiss: Jaune, be honest with me. Have I become a little... PLUMP IN THE RUMP?!

Jaune: ...Adrian, cover your ears. Um... No?

Weiss: Was that a question?

Jaune: N-No.

Weiss: So I put on weight?

Jaune: I didn't say that.

Weiss: So I need to go on a diet?

Jaune: I didn't say that!

Weiss: Come on, out with it! Have I become

Weiss: FFFFAAAAA...?

Adrian: Fat? Yeah!

Jaune: (Covers Adrian's mouth)

Weiss: S-So it's true! (Runs off crying)

Jaune: Adrian, life lesson number one; never tell a woman she's fat.

---------------------------------------

Jaune: Well... I give up. If anybody needs me, I'll be spending quality time with Weiss.

Adrian: It's that bad, huh?

Jaune: Yup. That bad.

---------------------------------------

Weiss: And here I thought I married a huntsman, not a crybaby!

Ren: Ooh~!

Jaune: WILL YOU CUT THAT OUT?!

---------------------------------------

Weiss: I love you, darling~.

Jaune: I love you, too, pumpkin~.

Weiss: What do you mean pumpkin? You sayin' I'm orange and round? Is that how you see me?

Jaune: No! Of course not, dumpling!

Weiss: Oh, so now I'm a dumpling?! I'm puffy and stuffed with meat and cheese! Is that it?!

Jaune: No, honey, that's not-!

Weiss: (Readies glyph) HONEY?! OH, SO NOW I'M ALL STICKY AND GOOEY?!

Jaune: No! You're, uh, my dilly-dally-daloo!

Weiss: ...Aw~! You're lucky I have no idea what that is.

---------------------------------------

Jaune: I've got the blueprints right here! (Opens scroll, Shows off lewd Weiss)

Adrian: My eyes! (Screaming in pain)

Ren: Jaune!

Jaune: Oh, right! Heh heh! Wrong picture! (Taps) Here we go! (Shows off lewd Ren)

Adrian: MY EYES ARE BLEEDING! (Screaming louder)

Ren: JAUNE-!

Jaune: I know, I know! I said I'd deleted it.

#rwby #chowder #white knight #jaune arc #weiss schnee #adrian cotta arc #lie ren #cinder fall

111 notes · View notes

vodika-vibes · 4 months

Note

Those inexperienced smut prompts make me feral 👀 How about #18, “I can’t wait to take your innocence," with Jesse and a shy/nervous female reader? Maybe something sweet, but also deliciously feral??? Pleaseeeeeeeeeee

First

Summary: You have a confession to make to Jesse, and it's making you very nervous.

Pairing: ARC Trooper Jesse x F!Reader

Word Count: 1692

Warnings: Uh Spicy almost smut, but no actual smut

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni

A/N: I had an idea, but I couldn't make the smut work, so I might make a sequel to this one with the actual smut. I'm so tired, I can't stop yawning.

For someone so anxious all the time, especially around strangers, Jesse has always been surprisingly easy for you to talk to, and to spend time with.

And sure, there were times when you were sure that he was only spending time with you out of a dare or because he had nothing better to do, or no one else has shown an interest in him, but at the same time, you’ve seen some of the people who flirt with Jesse.

People who are prettier, or smarter, or more confident, and Jesse always, always, firmly turns them down, and then turns his gaze back to you. Often with a kiss, or a tight hug, or some combination of the both.

It’s weird, and flattering, but mostly weird.

You’re not used to being anyone’s first choice. Let alone someone who’s as handsome and amazing as Jesse.

And yet, everytime he returns from a deployment, you’re his first visit.

And so, with time, you’ve relaxed around him. You no longer think that he’s going to ditch you the first time someone more gives him a look.

Which brings you to today.

Today you and Jesse were supposed to go out for dinner and a movie, but the movie was canceled, and so you canceled your reservations, deciding that you want to spend time with Jesse in private rather than out in public, and he hadn’t minded, when you sent him a message to inform him several hours earlier.

Of course, then he had to turn his comm off for training, so you haven’t heard anything from him since.

And, honestly, you’re a little nervous. Because you need to tell Jesse something. Something that he’s probably already guessed, since he knows you, but you know you still need to tell him. And you’re worried that telling him will make him treat you differently.

After all, you know that some men can be…funny…about finding out that their girlfriend is still a virgin.

You don’t really expect it to be a problem, but it still might be, and it’s that might that’s making you so nervous right now. Because you honestly don’t know what you’re going to do if Jesse does have a problem with it.

Anxiously, you gnaw on your lower lip, even as you try and focus on the stew that you’ve been slowly cooking for the majority of the day. Honestly, Jesse just needs to hurry up and get here so you can get out of your own head.

Half an hour later, you hear your front door slide open, “Babe?” Jesse calls from the hallway, once he lets the door slide shut, “I’m home!”

His never fails to settle your nerves, and a small smile crosses your face as you cover the stew, and you poke your head into the hallway to watch him strip his armor off. “How was your day?” You ask as a greeting.

“Ugh. Rex had us running drills all day because of something stupid a shiny did,” Jesse complains, “I thought I was going to have to crawl home. Luckily, Rex showed some mercy.”

“Oh?”

“His lady came for a visit and he was much calmer when she left.” Jesse replies with a grin as he finishes setting his armor on the shelf, “I could have cried.”

“Ooh, dragon whisperer.” You joke with an easy smile, and Jesse laughs, pulling a proper grin to your lips.

He turns to you then and sweeps you into his arms, pulling a startled squeal from you as he lifts you and spins you around, before he sets you back on your feet and bumps his forehead against yours, a wide grin on his handsome face, “Missed you, cyare.”

“You always say that.”

“It’s always true.” Jesse ducks his head to catch your lips in a chaste kiss, which slowly becomes more heated the longer it lasts. And the more heated the kiss becomes the tighter his grip becomes, until he’s all but clutching you to his body.

You’re the one who breaks the kiss, suddenly remembering that you have food on the stove, and Jesse releases a strangled noise as you squirm out of his grip and hurry back into the kitchen.

He follows you into the kitchen, though, and leans against the wall as you check the stew. “It smells amazing, cyare.” He says, his voice a little rougher than usual.

“I know you were really looking forward to the restaurant-”

“I was looking forward to spending time with you,” Jesse corrects, “I don’t really care where we spend it.”

You turn the heat down, so that the food won’t burn, and then you spin to look at him. You nervously play with the hem of your shirt, and your face is slightly pink, “Uhm…I need to tell you something!”

Jesse glances at your nervous hands, and then your pink face, and he smiles slowly. “Come here, babe.” As soon as you’re close enough, he tugs you into his arms, and lightly presses his forehead against yours again, “You can tell me anything, you know that.”

“I know. But this is…embarrassing.” You reply sheepishly.

“Hm…well, I promise not to laugh or judge you. No matter how embarrassing it might be.” Jesse says with an easy smile.

“Um…okay.” Your face burns a little hotter and you realize that there’s no way you’re going to be able to say what you need to say with him looking you in the eyes. So you shift and press your face against his neck, pulling an amused chuckle from his lips.

“That embarrassing, huh?”

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay, baby. I know you’re shy.” Jesse smooths his hand down your back.

“Um…I want…need…to tell that I’m…I’ve never…” You stumble over your words, and then you heave out a sigh of frustration. It shouldn’t be so hard to say this.

Jesse presses his head against the top of yours, “It’s okay, sweetling. Take your time.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, “I’m still a virgin,” You blurt out, very quickly. And then you press your face firmly against his neck and nervously wait for his response.

Jesse doesn’t say anything for a moment, and then you feel his hand so soft, and so gentle against the back of your head, “Cyare. Sweetling. Will you look at me? Please?”

You really don’t want to, but this is Jesse, so you slowly pull away to look up at him, your face still burning with embarrassment.

He’s smiling at you, there’s no judgment in his gaze, “My beautiful, wonderful, amazing girl.” Jesse coos, as he reaches up and caresses your cheek, “I guessed that you were, and it doesn’t bother me, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“...it-it doesn’t?”

“Of course not.” He ducks his head and presses a feather light kiss against your cheek, and then drags his lips to your jaw, “I’m willing to wait until you’re ready for me, sweetheart. No matter how long that might take.”

“Oh.” You blink at him, “Um…so…I was actually…” You hesitate and trail off.

“Go on, baby.”

“I want-”

Jesse’s gaze locks with yours, and something eager slides through his eyes, “You want-?” He prods, gently.

For a moment you avert your gaze, and you take a deep breath to steel yourself, and then you look back at him, “You.” You whisper up to him.

You’re barely able to get the word out before his lips are against yours, the kiss immediately more heated than any previous kiss. “I can’t wait to take your innocence.” He murmurs against your lips. Your nose scrunches slightly, and he laughs, “Too much?”

“You’re not taking anything,” You mumble as your hands slide just under the hem of his shirt, “I’m giving it to you.”

Jesse grins at you, “Dinner isn’t going to burn, is it?”

“Of course not!”

“Good.” Jesse crashes his lips back against yours as he sweeps you out of the kitchen and through the apartment and into your bedroom, and he kicks the door shut behind him.

His hands dip under your shirt, and he swiftly peels it off your body and tosses it to the side, and your bra quickly joins your shirt on the floor.

Jesse pauses then to slide his hands across your breasts. “Kriff, you’re so soft.” He mumbles against your lips. “I knew you would be. I’ve been fantasizing about this for months now.”

“Um…sorry…”

“Nope. No apologies allowed.” Jesse kisses you quickly and then guides you to sit, and then lay on the bed, so he’s able to lavish your torso with adoring kisses and lazy flicks of his tongue. “All my fantasies did was make this actual moment so much sweeter.” He wraps his lips around one of your nipples and lavishes it with attention, and he doesn’t move to the other side until you’re moaning softly.

He trails his lips back up your body, and sucks a mark against your collar bone, and then he moves up to your neck where he lavishes all of the exposed skin with kisses, taking his time to leave marks anywhere he can.

You squirm under him, gasping moans falling from your lips as he bites and sucks marks against your neck, “Jess-”

He pulls back and grins at you, “You look so pretty covered in my marks, sweetheart,” Jesse breathes out as he drags his hands over your exposed skin, “You’re so soft and warm and so much better than my fantasies.”

“Am I?” You ask.

He groans, “So much so.” He kisses you deeply, “Eventually I’m going to make all of my fantasies come true, but I wanna hear yours, baby. What do you want?”

You shake your head, “I don’t-”

Jesse regards you thoughtfully, and he very gently kisses you, “It’s okay baby, I’ll take care of you. And we can figure out what you like together.”

Your face heats at the way he’s looking at you.

And he laughs softly, “I have to keep reminding myself to go slow,” He murmurs as he lowers himself to press flush against you again, “You’re making me absolutely insane, gorgeous.”

“I haven’t done anything?” You whisper.

“You’re you. That’s enough.”

#star wars #tcw #arc trooper jesse x reader #jesse x reader #18+ fic #clone thirsting #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #f!reader fanfic #answered asks

41 notes · View notes

sardonic-the-writer · 1 year

Text

𝐌𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐨𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐊𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐢�� 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐚𝐥 𝐀𝐠𝐞𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

↳ warnings: none. readers gender is kept ambiguous as always

↳ song: teir abhaile riu—david downes

masterlist!

• The Doctor had crash landed in a field somewhere off the coast of Great Britian, a rough six hundred years before the destination he had been trying to reach

• TARDIS was a champ about it of course, taking the beating without so much as even a dent, but that did nothing to quell the Doctors complaints. He had meant to be visiting modern London, not a completely unknown century

• "Bloody hell." He sighed to no one in particular, running a hand down his face dramatically before pouting. "I really need to start inputting those numbers in a wee bit carefully, aye?"

• That's how you had found him next to the TARDIS—hands in the pockets of his trench coat and glancing idly around the surroundings, looking completely out of place in the rolling green hills

• You had been ordered by your captain late last night to take over the mornings rounds by all yourself, hence the lonesome trot you were partaking in along horseback around the country side

• Still, after seeing him things didn't stay lonesome for too long

• "Hault stranger!" You yelled loudly, voice slightly muffled from underneath your metal helmet. "State thy name and purpose!"

• Quickly turning to face you, the man before you and your steed took a second to observe the both of you before giving a cheery shout, snapping his fingers loudly

• "The middle ages! Of course hah! How lovely!" His smile and little laugh would have been infectious under any other circumstances, but you didn't join the Queen's royal gaurd to make friends. Much less mistakes in your duties

• It didn't take long before you drew your sword, even if a bit hesitantly. You had always been chided in training for your sense of mercy, but this man didn't seem to be hurting anyone. He was a bit odd yeah, but not a threat

• "Ah, there's no need for that my noble friend. I mean no harm, I'm simply a traveling doctor." A brief pause. "Ah, although I was wondering if you could tell me the exact year? And possibly, who's ruling? Not Queen Victoria I hope." His brown eyes sparkled warmly, eyeing you curiously. You furrowed your brows and blinked, knowing he couldn't see

• "Er, tis 1467 sir." Came your careful response. "And I do not know this Queen you speak of. I only serve her majesty, Queen Woodville and her husband, the king." As you spoke, a newfound wave of confusion swept over you. Just exactly who was this fellow?

• "One last thing." Your sword was now back at home in its sheath, not bothering to make another appearance as he approached you. "Could you possibly take me to the closest town? I've always wanted to visit the human middle ages!"

• "Well—"

• The next thing you know, you were riding back to town, a pair of arms wrapped around your waist and a voice chatting jovily in your ear about how beautiful the place is

• "—ook at all of these people! Such a small city but so many people! I wonder how the economy has been able to survive. And is that a blacksmith? Was he the one to make your armor? Becuase it is quite well crafted if I do say so myself." A quick knock to the back of your chest plate punctuated his point. You felt your lips turn up slightly at the corners before forcing your expression back into more of a frown

• "I made it myself, actually. I was planning on being thy local blacksmiths assistant before my folks signed me up for the royal guard."

• You recalled the day your parents had sat you down at the dinner table your father had made from his bare hands, informing you that the rest of your days would be carried out from underneath a glinting suit of metal instead of fhe heat of the forge you had come to love

• A bittersweet feeling overtook you for a moment, and you had a feeling the doctor behind you noticed. If he did however, he didn't mention it

• The rest of the ride was carried out in relative silence

• "This should be it, sir." The horse carrying both of you stilled in front of a pair of magnificent wooden gates, prompting you to swing one leg over and hop off the saddle

• You were quick to turn and offer a hand to the doctor in hopes of helping him down, only to find him already setting foot on the ground with a grin stretching from ear to ear

• "Lovely! Yes yes ye, absolutely lovely! The craftsmanship on these gates are centuries outdated of course, but still lovely nometheless!" He babbled on and on as if you weren't standing five feet away from him, waiting to see what he would do

• Finally, the strangely dressed man you had stumbled across faced you once more

• You had never noticed how soft of a smile he had

• "Thank you for accompanying me to this place." He said, scratching the back of his neck absent-mindedly. "I must say, I never got your name, knight. Have I, ah, earned the pleasure so to speak?" He added on the last part with a chuckle, stuffing his hands into the insides of his pockets once more

• You swallowed what felt like a throat full of freshly picked cotten

• His face quickly lit up as you uttered your name slowly to him, copying you a few times as if to taste the way your name sounded rolling off his toung

• "A fitting name." Was the cryptic response he offered

• "And yours, sir?" You finally asked. "I never got thy name either."

• A sharp glint flashed in his iris’s for a moment, almost as if he knew something that you didn't

• "Just call me Doctor." The man—no—the Doctor responded

• "Doctor who?"

• A soft chuckle

• "Exactly." He smiled. And with that, he slipped past the gates you were certain had been locked a moment ago, a flash of something blue peaking out from his coat pock

• The next time you saw the Doctor would be years later, when the strange interaction had all been cleansed from your head

• But that's a story for another time

151 notes · View notes

onlyseokmins · 2 years

Text

limbo • w.j.h.

Pairing: wen junhui x afab!reader

Genres: smut (minors dni!), afterlife!au

Warnings: this is kinda plot heavy not good smut but lezzgo just in case 😭 um daggers (no knife play tho dhdjjs), lil bit of threats and maybe violence, junhui deserves a warning himself I think he's hot, tying up/tentacle play kind of but it's shadows um like idk how to describe it 🤡 supernatural things!, biting 🦷, mentions of blood, death, lil bit of angst but I'm fluffy as usual <3, lots of mentions of souls and afterlife shenanigans, thigh riding, mirror sex, pls forgive me and just hmu if I missed smth

WC: 2.5k

A/N: for the lovely @katetattoolover <3 mwah I hope you enjoy this even if my brain died halfway writing it ndksksks another unplanned thing but limbo is just too powerful... Also for my huihuis mwah ILY... Idk how to describe this but I'm in a spooky mood bc of Halloween fics so this kind of played into it ig? I just like the plot 😭😅

If you were in heaven or hell, you didn't know. And you didn't care.

The fact of the matter was that you did know where you were.

Limbo.

The great boundary between worlds. Soul suspended, unable to leave. Not until you made a decision based on the knowledge gathered about your death that you learned here.

Neither heaven, hell, or earth.

A bleary place full of everything and nothing. Guarded and watched over by the enigmatic figure whose dark eyes were trained on you.

Blonde tresses tinged with white highlights are smoothly swept up in a ponytail to display his ears where little diamond studs twinkle like stars. When you'd first met him at the gates, he'd been wearing what you could only presume as combat armor, despite its lack of protection across his midriff. Vainly showing off his well-defined abs.

Now, he's donning a ruffled white blouse that looks like something old paintings of the founding fathers would have been dressed in. It suits him though, the v-cut down the front granting a delicious view of his décolletage and scorched ends adding to his devastating visuals.

You wonder how no one has succeeded in brutally attacking him with how exposed his outfits were but you suppose his eerie beauty is enough to render anyone immobile. Besides, even when his disinterested gaze shifts from you to the large glass of what you hope is simply wine, you can feel the shuddering intensity of the power he holds. Dangerous enough that it causes even your soul's shape to ripple in the stagnant air.

"You're a curious one, you know? Most are on their knees, begging for mercy."

"Is that what you prefer? Begging?"

The red liquid swirls as his fingers tap against the side of the glass. Silver hand jewelry accentuating the veins on his hands sparkles under the low, candlelit glow of the chandelier and matches the smirk that grows on his red lips.

"Only from those who dare to threaten my authority."

A silver, pearl-encrusted dagger lays on the floor between his golden throne at the table of gluttony and where you stand defiantly down on the concrete floor. Your wrists are bound together in front of you by a writhing strand of black shadows that spew out tiny hisses, much stronger than they look.

"I told you, I don't know where that came from. It's not mine!"

"Oh but darling," he laughs — though it's without humor, "it is."

You bare your teeth like a wild, caged animal. "I don't know a single thing! I just arrived here, someone has to be framing me, that dagger is not mine!"

Heeled boots create an echoing thud through the room that seems to enlarge and shrink at the same time. He bends down to pick up the dagger, turning it in his hands and inspecting it.

"This definitely belongs to you."

You stomp your foot. "No, it does n — "

"Because it was originally mine."

Your breath catches in your throat. Not just in response to his statement but because of the sharp point of the dagger inches away from your jugular. You may be an incorporeal existence now but fear fails to leave your instincts. Especially with a powerful entity's threats that could truly hurt you.

"Do you want a new life that bad?" he questions and for some reason he almost sounds… wistful? You're able to feel the cold steel against your chin as he taps the dull side of the dagger underneath it so you meet his searing, scarlet irises with a wide-eyed gaze. "That can't be it. There should only be one reason why you're standing before me."

"... Which is?"

"To return to your rightful place."

You attempt to take a step back but the shadows under his control swirl around your feet, anchoring you in place as he leans in.

"I don't know what you're talking about!"

"To come back to me. My queen."

"What?"

"The only other rightful ruler of Limbo." He's close enough that you can smell the sweet but smokey scent emanating from him, the dagger still poised between the two of you. "Allow me to remind you, my beloved."

Shadow wisps tickle your cheeks, encouraging you to close your eyes as they wrap around you. You think you should be terrified, screaming and struggling in protest. But the caresses of darkness welcoming you have nostalgia entangled within. A strange but familiar sense of comfort has you willingly grant them access into your mind to reawaken suppressed memories of a past life.

An arranged marriage. Heavy crowns. Lovelessness. A kiss stolen under the stars. Satin silk sheets. A dagger decorated with pearls. A promise, an oath. Blood. A chained box. Death. A name.

"Junhui," you breathe out.

"My love," he affirms with a hushed whisper of your own name.

Your eyes reopen with a glow, drinking in his features with a different sense of appreciation. One that holds recognition and fondness. Utter longing.

"How did this happen?"

He gently takes your hand, releasing your hands from the bindings and leads you up the stairs.

"After the soldiers cut me down, I found myself here. Searching for you, for a sign. Instead I found this." The ornate chair next to the one he was sitting on holds an old, beaten-up wooden box with heavy silver chains. It lies open but empty. "The higher beings told me I would have to wait and be patient… that I would have absolutely no doubts when you finally arrived."

You take the dagger he holds out to you, the same as you did on that fateful yet tragic night. Fragmented memories piece together the events that led up to your demise. Frantically digging a hole to hide the box containing the written love notes exchanged between your lover. The dagger should've joined them but the devastating news your personal maid delivered to you was buried into your body instead of the ground. Infused to become a part of your soul.

A sob unwittingly escapes. "For how long?"

"Too long." Junhui sighs. "I lost count thousands of years ago."

"I'm so sorry — "

"Don't. You've come to me now and that's all that matters."

"Jun…"

"Welcome to my lost world," he wipes away the tears that trail down your cheeks. "I've built it all for you, my queen. No one can defy or separate us now."

It is not the paradise you envisioned in your mortal lives nor the nirvana your soul imagined it'd be sent to. But that didn't matter because you realize that what you've always wanted — who you've always needed — was standing before you. Welcoming you with an open embrace.

"So, what happens now?"

"We must ensure that your soul is bound here… and to me so it won't move on or disappear… if that is what you want. You must make a choice."

You brush the strand of hair that escaped from his ponytail behind his ear. "What choice is there to make? I want to stay with you, to be with you. What must I do to make that happen?"

Junhui bites his lip. With a deep breath, he walks you over to where a shattered mirror sits in the corner. You try to hold back a scream and whimper instead, watching through the cracked glass as Junhui's arms wrap steadily around you — but nothing of you visible — in the reflection.

"Oh my g — "

"God can't help us now, beloved. He was never on our side to begin with." You nod pensively and Junhui continues. "Would you allow me to touch you, darling? Like before? I must bind your soul here and to do that, I will have to claim you as mine."

You turn to face him with a smile. "Aren't I already yours? Years ago, hidden under the veil of night?"

He beams back at you. "I take that as a yes, then?"

"Yes" rolls off your tongue and then Junhui's pressing his lips against yours. Running his tongue across your lips to seek permission, you chase his mouth as he walks backward until he's seated on his chair.

You fall against him, knees planting on either side of his thighs cushioned by the plushy surface. The ruffles on his blouse tickle your sudden bare skin and you pull away, looking at him in shock.

"Special privileges," he smirks devilishly, "I can manipulate the Limbo landscape quite easily so making your soul bare for me takes little effort."

"Will I be able to do the same?"

"Of course, my queen. And more." He takes your hand and places it over his chest. "But it's not like you need any powers to strip me, my dear. And I hope you'll use those kinds of powers on no one else but your king."

It's an invitation you would never refuse. The sound of tiny buttons and the clatter of the dagger hitting the floor fill the room as you rip off his shirt and slide it down his shoulders. Your hand trails down his pecs to the abs you were graced with upon your arrival, following the defined veins that disappear into his pants. He halts you when you start to slide down and you frown.

"I thought you liked people begging on their knees?"

"I do… but only in certain cases. Perhaps we can save that for another time, I'm supposed to be worshiping you, my love. Encouraging you to stay with me. Uniting our souls."

You want to tell him that you would not leave no matter what. But you know the strange workings of the afterlife and anything before, between, and after have strict rules that must be followed.

So, you relent. Letting him take control, peppering your upper body with kisses as he runs his fingers up and down the sides of your body. Committing it all to memory once more. Though you are no different to him than you were centuries ago.

The sting of coldness from his rings and fancy jewelry comes as a shock. Junhui feels you jolt against his hold and pauses, looking up at you from where his head is positioned between the valley of your chest.

"Are you okay?"

You nod, explaining the sensations, and he smiles contently; resuming his journey across the curves of your body. The soft material of his pants press against your center as you slowly begin to sink down on his thigh, submitting to the thrall of pleasure. As he tenses the thick muscle, you feel the breath of his snort when he guides your hips to move.

Sharp teeth graze the supple skin of your breasts and you furrow your brow, fingers running across his equally razor-edged jawline as you gently push his head back. Lidded eyes gaze at you with a lust-filled yet yearning look as you inquisitively explore his mouth.

Marveling at the same features you'd gawked at in your previous life, all motions halt as your lover dutifully lets you run your finger across his fangs. Earlier, his tongue had focused on tangling within your mouth in fear of potentially slicing you.

But as you prick your thumb on the point of his left canine tooth, no pain and no blood comes as you are neither dead nor alive. Giggling, you press a kiss on the mole right above it and gleefully show him.

"You can't hurt me."

"Not yet," he winks and encourages you to move your hips again. "As long as you're nice and wet, it won't."

"I don't think pain exists here."

He frowns, eyes darkening. "It does. I was so very lonely. It deeply hurt and ached so much that I slowly became numb. But all of that is a distant thought, overshadowed by you in my arms and on my lap."

You kiss his nose next. "I don't want you to feel lonely anymore. I'm here to stay with you for the rest of eternity."

He turns you around and you gasp. What once was reflected in the empty, cracked mirror now shows a depraved image. Junhui's hands move faster, one hand moving down to spread your cunt open for you to see while the other fondles your tits.

Leering over your shoulder, he harshly sucks on your neck before biting down lightly. You moan. Head thrown back as his fangs pierce you but once again, no pain is felt and no blood is spilled. Just pure bliss and pleasure.

"Look at you," Junhui praises. "Look at how beautiful you are when you finally sit on this throne."

By throne, he must mean his cock. The diamond encrusted belt is slipped off and dropped on the floor, his fingers busy as he unzips his pants. You feel his hard length slap against your back, having shifted forward to give him space to move.

His shadows aid him, lifting you up a decent amount and playing with you a bit to stretch you out before they ease you down on his thick girth. You throw your head back against his other shoulder and he takes the opportunity to lick up the opposite side of your neck. Biting as he pleases.

You both let out synonymous moans when he bottoms out, gasping at how fiery his gaze is that it's almost melting the glass of the mirror as he stares you head-on.

"Your beauty shines in this abyss."

If you could, you'd ride him into oblivion but the burning stretch of his thick cock is overwhelming enough that even your supernatural body cannot escape the plethora of pleasure surging as your hole clenches tight around it. Luckily, the shadows sweep forward at his beckon once more, tendrils wrapping around your ankles in the effort to assist your feeble movements.

It's far from scary because they are just another part of him. Curling around your nipples, brushing tenderly at your cheek, tickling your clit… yet it feels like Junhui's hands are all over you. Even though you know he hasn't moved away from your hips as your nails dig into his forearms from the intense up and down motions, ass slapping against his thighs.

You can feel a distinct power surge — twisting and turning as your drooling figure becomes more and more defined in the melting mirror. The Limbo is welcoming the long awaited queen into its domain, accepting the share of powers as the king ravages his beloved on the very throne he once spent decades crying upon.

"You are mine, aren't you, my queen?"

"Yes, I am yours… my king," you huff out, surrendering to your climax with an otherworldly scream as your soul adjusts to its newfound abilities as he joins you in a blazing release deep within your cunt.

Sweat makes your skin glisten as you lay in Junhui's arms panting. The shadows come forth once more — at your command — solidifying into an elegant black outfit.

The king hums in approval. "No crown is needed to represent your authority, but I will give whatever gems and riches you desire."

"I want nothing but you."

"Isn't it funny? Alive, I could offer you nothing but now in this realm of ours — anything is possible."

You kiss his forehead, smiling extra sharply with your newly acquired fangs. "Thank you for waiting for me."

"Thank you for coming back." Junhui whispers against your lips. "Now we have the rest of eternity to make up for what we lost."

Bound together. Forever. In Limbo.

#ez.creates #svt smut #seventeen smut #kpop smut #junhui smut #wen junhui smut #jun smut #Pls forgive me for this it was fun while it lasted istg #svt.smut

427 notes · View notes

yanderes-galore · 3 months

Note

I do nothing if not simp for Halo RVB villains, and Locus deserves a work of his own. Could you please do a short with your prompts 46, 51, and 58? Having that man in particular chasing you down would be one of if not the most terrifying experience in anyone’s life.

-📸 Anon

Hell yeah, Locus content! Had no plot in mind, may be OOC, hope you enjoy sadistic Locus anyways.

Yandere! Locus Prompts 46, 51, 58

"Even monsters can love, can't they...?"

"I'll chase you down like an animal if I have to."

"One more mistake and I may just break something."

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Stalking, Sadism, Manipulation, Violence, OOC Locus, Threats, Broken bones, Forced relationship implied.

"One more mistake and I may just break something." Locus hisses through his helmet, stalking ever closer to you with his invisibility up. The monster of a soldier seethes when he sees you desperately search around like a cornered animal. "If you aren't careful it may just be your legs."

Why did you always think you could escape him?

He's so tired of such a futile act.

You didn't have as much experience as him in the field. Regardless on if you were a Freelancer or Simulation Trooper he was superior. He could track you for days.

In fact... he was surprised you even managed to flee from him for so far.

That alone was impressive... but not enough.

"How long do you intend to follow me?" You wheeze, trying to catch your breath. Locus sets aside his anger and laughs at your fight. Maybe this was why he liked you so much.

"I'll chase you down like an animal if I have to." Locus muses, so close to you but out of your sight. "You aren't getting away from me so easily... I'm not going to let you."

"Why?" You wheeze, feeling your legs give out from all the running. "I don't understand what you want from me-"

"Truthfully, I didn't either at first." Locus sighs, standing behind your collapsed figure. "However... being so close to you like this has given me something new to track."

You go to stand and turn around only for Locus to uncloak and out speed you. He pins your arms behind your back quickly despite the armor you wore. You were at his mercy, like it or not.

"Somehow you've managed to catch me off guard." Locus comments, holding you tighter as you try to move. "I thought war tore all the humanity out of me... but you managed to bring something up again."

"What are you talking about?" You ask softly, trying to calm your breathing.

"This isn't easy to say... but you've managed to make me attached to you." Locus states, he was having trouble understanding it himself.

"You expect me to fall for a monster like you?" You growl. "One that kills innocents because he's told to?"

Locus doesn't comment at first. What you say is true. He has indeed done that and it's something he can't forget.

Although... he doesn't expect you to reciprocate.

He plans to make you do it.

"Even monsters can love, can't they...?" Locus mutters towards you. "I'm not denying I'm a monster... so there's no point in fighting your little comment."

Locus then flips you onto the floor before restraining you again. You grunt, still trying to fight as Locus chuckles on top of you. Yes, he's a monster, but he plans to be yours.

"This is what I like about you." Locus hums. "You have the fight of a soldier, I want to hone that in you once I make you mine."

"Yours? I'll never bow to a monster like you. I'll just keep running." You hiss. Locus says nothing, only sitting on top of you before leaning over you.

"Then like a true monster... I'll break you and make submit." Locus whispers.

It's then you hear a certain crack come from your back or lower region.

The pain quickly becoming unbearable as you scream.

#yandere halo red vs blue #yandere halo rvb #yandere locus #yandere halo rvb locus #yandere samuel ortez

27 notes · View notes

middleearthpixie · 1 month

Text

Something in the Night ~ Chapter Twelve

Summary: Following the Battle of the Five Armies, a seriously wounded Thorin Oakenshield returns to Erebor to recuperate and eventually ascend the throne as king. With the deaths of Azog the Defiler and his son, Bolg, Thorin no longer has to worry about the bounty the Defiler placed on his head and can instead concentrate on restoring Erebor to its former glory.

Nina Carren of Esgaroth has one goal—to make Thorin Oakenshield pay for unleashing Smaug the dragon unto her home—where he destroyed the town and killed her family. The Defiler might be gone, but his bounty remains very much in place, and she fully intends to collect on it.

Finally, the opportunity shows itself for her to do just that, only to have it go horribly awry. Wounded and now at his mercy, neither Nina nor Thorin stopped to think what might happen, should things not go quite according to plan…

Pairings: Thorin Oakenshield x ofc Nina Carren

Warnings: Description of battle and wounds

Rating: T

Word Count: 3.7k

Tag List: @mrsdurin @i-did-not-mean-to @fizzyxcustard @xxbyimm @legolasbadass @lathalea @kibleedibleedoo @arrthurpendragon @exhausted-humxn-being @knittastically @notlostgnome @myselfandfantasy @medusas-hairband @guardianofrivendell @jotink78 @ruthoakenshield @frosticenow @quiall321 @dianakc @msjava1972 @glassgulls @evenstaredits @heilith @asgardianhobbit98 @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms @sazzlep

If you’d like to be added (or removed) to the tag list, please just let me know!

Previous chapters can be found here.

His arms trembled from the force of holding the filth back. Azog the Defiler loomed over him, pressing his full weight into his sword. The only thing holding him at bay was the Orcrist and Thorin’s own will. But, even as he stared up at the pale orc, Thorin did so without actually seeing him. In his head, however, he saw Fíli’s seemingly lifeless body in Azog’s hand. Then, Azog let go, tossing Fíli as if he was nothing more than rubbish. Fíli made no sound until he hit the stone ground. Then, a sickening crunch of breaking bones filled the void.

He didn't know where Kíli was, and could only hope that his youngest nephew had not crossed paths with any of the Gundabad orcs.

Azog shifted his weight, pressing harder still. Thorin looked up into the crystalline blue eyes that held no warmth, no humanity, were nothing more that two pale slivers of ice staring back at him.

He knew what he had to do.

Loosening his grip on the blade, Thorin slid his left hand free and let his right fall away as well.

At first, he felt nothing.

But then…

Mahal…

Fire. White-hot and furious, that fire sliced through him as both blade pierces his flimsy chainmail armor, pierced the heavy woolen tunic beneath it.

Pierced his skin. His guts. Pain did not aptly describe the sheer, agonizing torture of being run through, of feeling every inch of not one, but two blades as they sliced cleanly through him. A red haze fell before his eyes and he couldn't hold back his primal cry of anguish. Nothing could ever hurt the way this did.

The triumph in the orc’s eyes steeled Thorin’s will, his resolve and he waited a moment, just as Azog began to relax.

Utter shock rendered the orc’s face limp, his jaw going slack as Thorin surged toward him, grabbed him by the shoulders to flip him onto his back. Ignoring the burning in his gut, the sticky damp flow of his blood as it seeped from his wounds into his tunic, Thorin shoved the orc down, onto his back and as he did, he shifted his weight, maneuvered the Orcrist between them.

And pushed with everything he had.

The blade, sharp enough to literally split a hair, slid with little effort, but Thorin threw his weight into it, pushing as it went through the orc and into the ice. His face but inches from Azog’s, it was Thorin’s turn to just watch, empty inside as the light went out in the orc’s soulless eyes. A thick, black pool formed beneath the pale, scarred body, spreading outward, across the ice. Into the ice to seep into the river.

Thorin jerked back, a hand going instinctively to his wounds and his stomach lurched as blood spilled over his gloved fingers, bounced across the ice, oozed into the black orc blood. Nausea swept through him. An icy sweat prickled along his back and chest. He managed to push back and get to his feet, almost blinded from the agony.

He staggered back, and turned to slowly move toward the falls.

He heard the cry of the eagles.

Unable to remain upright, Thorin sank to his knees, letting out a low moan as the vibration of hitting the ice sent a stinging wave of icy hot pain surging through him.

He could barely breathe now. It hurt too much. Took too much effort.

With that, he slumped onto his back.

Thorin bolted awake with a low, strangled moan, and relief coursed through him as he stared up into the darkness and woven branches and vines slowly came into sight. An icy sweat bathed him, prickled along his chest and stung along his wounds that were now merely raised pink scars.

He slowly sat up, one hand going, as it always did, to those scars, as if he feared he’d opened them in his thrashing about. He hadn’t, of course, but at the same time, he sighed with relief. No gaping, open wounds. No warm, sticky blood. Just the scars and the layer of hair that had grown back around them.

The dream was so real, so vivid, that for a moment, Thorin burned with fury, burned with the need to simply be done with Azog the Defiler, the pale, scarred orc who’d hunted him from the Shire all the way across Middle Earth to an ice floe up at Ravenhill, whose sole purpose was to end Thorin and his bloodline.

He’d let the filth run him through and using what he thought would be his last breath and will, Thorin managed to force Azog onto his back, and with the Orcrist, used every bit of strength he had left to return the favor. He’d thought he’d die on that floe, and had accepted that as Mahal’s fate for him. It would be a sacrifice worth making, if it kept his people safe, if it meant the deaths of his nephews would be avenged.

However, as it turned out, although all three of them had been seriously wounded, between Erebor’s healers and the ones sent by Elrond to assist, he and Fíli and Kíli survived. It had been a long, rough road, and to a certain extent all three of them were still recovering, but this second chance was one he never thought he’d be given. It meant the opportunity to do the things he’d once thought would not be possible for him.

He’d resigned himself to the fact that Fíli would inherit the Throne of Erebor when his, Thorin’s, time was up. While the notion of marriage, and possibly children, had crossed Thorin’s mind from time to time, the fact was he’d not yet crossed paths with any woman he felt strongly enough to bind himself to.

Until Nina came along.

Now, he couldn't stop thinking about her. He hadn’t followed her to the stream, or back to her chambers with the intention of kissing her, or of doing anything else with her, either. But then, she gazed up at him and in that moment, every last bit of rationality vanished and he gave into an urge he hadn’t felt in years.

Kissing her felt right. Holding her felt right.

Nina felt right.

He turned his head to his right, where beside him, Nina slept peacefully, her back to him. Thankfully, he’d not woken her. He carefully rolled onto his side and rose onto his elbow to gaze down at her in the low light just before dawn. Her glorious hair spilled across her pillow, a hint of jasmine clinging to it to tease his nose.

A sense of contentment settled over him. He had never intended for this to happen, and most assuredly not with a daughter of Man. But that didn't mean he was sorry it had happened, for while it was a distraction he wasn't at all certain he needed, it was one he very much enjoyed.

Of course, it did complicate things. The future was so uncertain, and there were many factors that would work against him being a couple with her. First, he had no way of knowing if Nina wanted anything more than this one night. He wasn't certain he wanted more, either. It had been right in the moment, and perhaps there was the possibility of there being more between them. Perhaps. But he didn't know and he didn't know how to figure it out, either.

He’d spent so long trying to reclaim his place in the world, to reclaim his birthright and his throne that he’d given precious little thought to his own personal future. And it wasn't too long ago that his future was in grave danger. He was still adjusting to the notion of having a future now, and navigating that was just as treacherous, it seemed.

The dream clung to him like a sour mist, the way it did each time he’d dreamed it. With a low sigh, he sank onto his back once more, and closed his eyes to try and will sleep to return. For all the good it did. He opened his eyes and lay there for what seemed an eternity, staring up into the darkness. Finally, he gave up trying to fall back to sleep and instead rolled away from Nina, sat up, and slid to the edge of the bed.

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and sat forward, his head falling into his hands. He hated that blasted dream. It never changed, but instead replayed what he’d thought were the last moments of his life, the last moments of his nephew’s life. He hadn’t known at the time how seriously Kíli had been wounded as well. It wasn't until he was back at Erebor that he learned a she-elf named Tauriel had saved his life not once, but twice over.

Which was why he’d backed Kíli’s desire to marry herand defended that desire to Kíli’s mother, Dís. Tauriel had proven herself worthy and although she didn't necessarily agree, Dís capitulated just the same. She’d nearly lost both of her sons and her older brother. She could not and would not deny Kíli this.

With a muffled sigh, he rose, wincing as he stretched and the bones in his spine popped all down the line. He quietly dressed, then just as quietly let himself out of her chambers. Night was fading, the blackness muted into gray now, with hints of pale gold light woven in as he made his way back to his own.

He needed to think, to make sense of what had happened between him and Nina and how it had happened, to try and figure out just where they went from there. They were less than a day from Dale. From there, it was only a few hours more to Erebor. Their time together was almost at an end and with this surprise turn of events, he wasn't certain how he felt about that.

He made his way along a narrow path that wound from the palace. A walk in the forest would help clear his head some. Or at least, he hoped so. Mirkwood could be foreboding and dark, but it was also beautiful, if one knew where to go and where to avoid. Since his first pass through Mirkwood, on the quest to retake Erebor, he had learned well which parts of the forest to avoid.

The path wound toward the west, far enough away from the spiders, which he’d encountered in the northern part of the forest on that first adventure, and if he never came across them again, he’d be happy.

The soft rush of water grew louder as he made his way to the Forest River. The last time he’d seen that river was from a barrel, when he and the Company made their escape, with Bilbo’s help, from Thranduíl’s palace. All was quiet now. No elven warriors, no guards chasing them downstream.

More importantly, no orcs.

Remnants of the battle remained, though. Nicked and chipped stone off the steps leading to a bridge above the rushing tide, several broken bows, dark stains in otherwise pale rock. They were the reminders of the orc pack that had invaded Mirkwood to wreak havoc.

He sighed softly as he sank onto a tree that had fallen near the woods’ edge. It was so quiet. So peaceful. The sun was just coming up in the distance, its pale gold beams streaking the sky coral and purple.

His gaze wandered past the stone bridge, down over the falls to the rapids they’d navigated without oars, and without weapons, to where the current spit them out along a shore at the apex of the River Running and Forest River, where they emptied into the Long Lake.

“So, this is where you disappeared to?”

He spun about to see Nina emerging from the path and guilt surged through him as she added, “I woke up and you were gone and for a moment, I was actually worried.”

“I—I beg your pardon,” he replied softly, turning back toward the water. “I thought it might be—awkward.”

“And this isn’t?”

He managed a smile. “I’d hoped by the time this happened, I’d know what to say.”

“And do you?”

“Not a whit.”

She wound her way over to where he sat and settled beside him on the rough tree trunk. “Is it always awkward?”

“In truth, I don't know. Last eve—” Heat swept through him as he tried to find the least embarrassing way to admit what he was about to admit to her—“last eve was the first I’ve ever had to worry about it.”

“What?”

He smiled as he looked over at her. “You sound surprised.”

“I am. Shocked, really.”

“Why?”

“Well… because… well, look at you, Thorin. Look. At. You. You’re handsome and kind and a king. Women must try to kill one another to be noticed by you.”

He couldn't help but laugh at that, shaking his head as he said, “There’s a bit you need to learn about dwarves, isn’t there, Nina?”

“I beg your pardon?”

He looked over at her, smiling at the hint of pink along her cheekbones. “Dwarves do not take this lightly, Nina. It’s not in our makeup to leap from bed to bed, you know.”

“So, you mean… that was your first time?”

“Does that surprise you?”

She nodded. “It does, yes.”

“Why?”

“Well… I just told you why.” She gestured to him. “Handsome. Kind. Kingly.”

He couldn't help his chuckle. “I’ll have you know that by dwarven standards, I am not considered handsome at all.”

“Dwarves are an odd lot, then,” she replied pertly. “For you are, you know. You are actually very handsome.”

He had to admit, it was a boost to hear her say such things. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She tucked a wayward burgundy curl behind her left ear. “This is the first time I’ve ever had to worry about it as well.”

A hint of color came to her cheeks as she looked over at him and as her eyes met his, that blush deepened. “And I’m not entirely sure of what to do or say.”

Without thinking, he reached out to thread his fingers through her wild tangle of curls, drawing them away from her face and when her eyes closed and she nuzzled his hand, his breath hitched at the sensation that shot through him. “Neither am I, to be honest.”

He caught her beneath the chin and lifted her face to his, then leaned in and brushed her lips with a light kiss. Heat swelled deep inside him, the urge to deepen his kiss, to ease her down amongst the leaves and make love to her there in the forest, roaring up from within.

Her lips parted, her tongue soft and teasing as she slid it between his lips to caress his. Her hand came up to curve against his cheek, her thumb lightly brushing along it. He savored her kiss, reluctant to break it even as he slowly pulled away.

She straightened up and turned back to gaze out over the water. “It really is beautiful out here.”

“It is.” He nodded. “From this point of view. It wasn’t so beautiful or pleasant the last time I was here.”

“Right… the barrels.”

“The barrels.”

She smiled and tucked her head against his shoulder. “I have to admit, the barrel part sounds like fun.”

“Believe me, it isn’t. I’m amazed not a one of us drowned. The current in that river is amazingly powerful and remaining upright was exhausting and difficult.”

The breeze picked up, sending her hair dancing wildly once more. He couldn't help but stare at her, as she looked every bit as untamed and beautiful as the forest around them and truth be told, he still felt the remnants of the pleasure they’d found with one another last eve. It hummed through him, a bit louder now, and a bit stronger, and that urge to pull her down surged through him once more.

But her expression grew serious as she stared down at her hands, tucked between her knees, her fingers laced. He shifted toward her on the tree trunk. “What it is, Nina? You look as if you’ve the weight of the world on your shoulders at the moment.”

Without looking up at him, she bobbed her head. “There’s… something you need to know, Thorin. And I have to admit, I’m at a bit of a loss, because I didn't think things would turn the way they have.”

“What do you mean?”

“What do I mean…” A hint of a laugh wove into her voice and when she turned back to gaze out at the river, the breeze ruffled through her glorious hair to sent it fluttering this way and that about her face. In the sunlight, it glinted with rivers of fiery red and dark gold and a million colors in between.

She caught a handful of that mass of tossed curls and pushed it away from her face. “Do you honestly remember me from Esgaroth or was that just a very lucky guess?”

He smiled. “I remember you. You were there in the front, not far from where Bilbo stood. And there was another woman who greatly resembled you. It was snowing and the flakes settled in your hair and it stood out to me because I’ve never seen hair the color of yours. Glóin has red hair, but his isn’t nearly as vibrant as this.”

As he spoke, he reached out, unable to resist touching her hair, gathering it in his hand. “And I thought you could not possibly be real, but a bit of my imagination and my mind playing tricks on me.”

Her eyes closed as he brushed her cheek with his fingertips before threading them through her hair. He didn't know if she meant to do so, but she nuzzled his hand and a soft sigh whispered across her lips.

“I thought you were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen,” he said softly, unable to hold back his own smile. “And I had wished I knew what your name was.”

She lifted her head then and turned to him, her smile fading. “Do I look so simple to you, Thorin? So simple that you think I believe a word of this?”

“I have no cause to lie to you, Nina.” He lowered his hand. “But if you’d rather not believe me, that is your choice, I suppose.”

She rose from the tree, picking her way around the underbrush and vines toward the stone bridge. “I was so angry at you, you know,” she told him, shaking her head as she stepped onto the bridge. “For what happened when Smaug incinerated Esgaroth. So very angry.”

“It’s difficult to find fault with that.”

“I didn't believe it had actually happened, you know. I tried to convince myself it was just some terrible dream. Even when I was on the opposite shore, with—with the others who survived. It was just so unreal, it had to be a dream.” She turned to him. “But then the next morning, when I found Lenna, I couldn't fool myself any longer. She, our brother, his wife… they were all gone and you were why, Thorin Oakenshield. You were why.”

Now he did rise. Rose and crossed to her. “You must know how truly sorry I am about what happened.”

“I do know,” she managed to whisper, her eyes shimmering and her lips trembling. She turned back to the water, her hands coming to rest on the rough stone before her. “I know now. But before that? How could I?”

“You could not hate me any more than I hated myself,” he told her softly, easing his arms about her waist to pull her gently to his chest. He half-expected her to fight him, to shove him away and demand he leave her be.

But to his surprised, she sank against him, the top of her head only coming to his shoulder. “I am sorry, mesmel,” he whispered, pressing a kiss into the soft nest of burgundy curls. “If I could do it again, I would do it differently.”

“I know,” she nodded, then slowly turned toward him, “I do. But you can’t.”

He caught her beneath the chin with one finger, lifting her face to his. “You said there was something I need know. What is it?”

Her eyes shimmered emerald as she held his gaze and for reasons he couldn't explain, his gut began to churn with apprehension. “Nina?”

“We should go. You said you wished to leave with the sunrise and there—”

He caught her as she tried to pull away from him. “Nina.”

She drew in a deep breath. “Thorin, I—”

“Thorin! There ye are! I thought ye wished to leave long before now?”

Thorin swore softly beneath his breath as Nina pulled away completely and started back down the path toward their chambers, bumping into Dwalin as she hurried along. “Oh, I beg your pardon.”

“Where are ye going in such a hurry?”

Nina didn't slow down, but tossed, “We are leaving, aren’t we?” over one shoulder.

Thorin sighed softly as she vanished around the bend and Dwalin offered up a knowing look. “What happened?”

Thorin shook his head. “Don’t ask.”

“Thorin?”

“I mean it, Dwalin. Do not ask.” He also pushed by him. “We leave in thirty minutes.”

“Thorin?” Dwalin grabbed him by the arm to halt him. “What is going on?”

He sighed, rubbing his eyes with one hand. “I think I might have just complicated matters more than they already are.”

Dwalin’s eyes narrowed. “Nina?”

“Nina.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did.”

“Thorin.”

“I know. I know. And now, I just wish to move on and go home.”

“And Nina?”

“She’s going with us, as far as I know.”

“Is that wise?”

“I have no idea, Dwalin. I thought it was wise to allow her to come this far with us.” Thorin lowered his hand. “I’m probably not the best judge of what is wise these days.”

Dwalin let out a low sigh. “At least tell me it was worth it.”

Thorin smiled then and slowly nodded. “Oh, it was definitely worth it. But ask me not for details, for I share none.”

Dwalin rolled his eyes. “I look forward to just going home.”

“That makes two of us.”

#Richard Armitage #AU #The Hobbit #Thorin Fic #Thorin Oakenshield #Is it hot in here?#Hobbit Fic #Romance #Hobbit Fanfic #Thorin x OC #Fan fiction #The Hobbit fan fiction

16 notes · View notes

bruggle · 7 days

Text

Behold!

The Rip-out-your-heart-inator!

At least, that's the goal. Dunno if I achieved it. Have fun, chilren.

Glowing

The past is a haunting thing. But what else can it do in the present except try to hurt you?

Words: 3k

"A moon of light reflecting fully

And I guess it would feel like rebirth

Out of some kind of dying

To see yourself

So glowing."

-Glowing, The Oh Hellos

Carnage.

Destruction.

Death.

How much was caused by him?

Everywhere X looked, that’s all he saw. Omega, within the massive suit Weil had created in order to enhance his ability to control reploids while fused with the Dark Elf, sat prone; too heavily damaged to even move. X glowered; he didn’t even bother trying to fight it back. There were few people X could say he truly hated. Omega had the ‘honor’ of being one of them.

A part of X wanted to end the doppelganger right then and there. To hell with mercy. To hell with restraint.

X tore his gaze from the giant reploid. He had to find his brothers. Axl had disappeared early in the fight; swallowed by the sea of controlled reploids that had appeared the second Weil had integrated the Dark Elf. Zero… Zero had faced Omega alone for the first part of the battle as X struggled to beat back Weil’s army of golems. He wasn’t sure where the red clad reploid had gone once the white reploid had set his sights on X. Please don’t let them be dead.

There were… so many bodies.

So many.

None of them deserved it.

Of the few reploids still standing, none of them were familiar. They all ducked their gaze once they realized X was looking at them. No. He kept moving. Surely, Axl would appear with yet another poorly timed joke, as he was wont to do. Or… or Zero would join his side without a word, silently giving his support. Please. Please.

As X wandered the battleground, he noticed a group of reploids standing in a circle; their grave expression sent a pulse of panic through his systems. No. He picked up the pace, making a beeline towards them. No. As X grew closer, one of the reploids noticed his presence, a horrified expression making it’s home on his face. No. More took notice of the blue bomber’s appearance; beginning to whisper amongst themselves. No. “Wait-“ one of them called, but X ignored them; stumbling closer to the object they were encircling. Why did it look familiar?! Pushing a purple clad reploid out of the way, it took everything for X to not break right there and then.

The figure on the ground was clad in navy armor with grey and red accents.

The inset blue gem was destroyed.

The helmet was gone, allowing red hair to hang loosely around his face.

Sightless green eyes stared back at him.

X fell to the floor, gathering Axl’s limp body into his arms. “No, no, no,” he repeated softly to himself, over and over and over and over again. It was unnatural to see the normally hyperactive reploid so still. X refused to look at the missing arm and legs, focusing on the prototype’s face. Axl’s body was shaking or was that just his own arms shaking? as X hugged him closer. He was- X shut that thought down, choosing to instead bury his face in Axl’s hair. “You’re okay,” he whispered, clenching his eyes closed. “It’s over. Wake- wake up, Axl. C’mon, this joke isn’t funny anymore.”

The surrounding reploids looked around at each other, searching for the correct words to say. X didn’t care. Where was Zero? Why wasn’t Axl waking up?! “Sir,” one of the reploids hesitantly spoke up. “I don’t think-“

“Shut up,” X demanded, snarled, begged.

Don’t tell me, he silently prayed. He has to be okay.

Where was Zero?!

A sudden wetness on his cheeks made X slowly reopen his eyes. Had it started raining? Looking up, the skies were still clear it didn’t fit it didn’t fit it didn’t fit it didn’t fit it didn’t fit causing X to slowly bring a hand to his face. Pulling it away, it was definitely wet; he had almost forgotten he could cry. The reploid that had been brave enough to speak gave him an odd look. They couldn’t. Of course they couldn’t.

Anger.

Rage.

Pain.

Why was there so much pain?!

Gently cradling his brother’s body to his chest, X slowly stood up. He knew. Axl was dead. And it was his fault. X never should have allowed him to become a Maverick Hunter. Turning, he made his way back to the center of the battleground; passing the giant, motionless heap yet again.

He had never wanted to utterly destroy Sigma as much as he wanted to destroy Omega.

Why not? asked a voice. Why not destroy it now?

It was there that X noticed a new face, one completely unmarked by the horrors all the other survivors witnessed. Her eyes were darting over the wasted landscape, until they landed on him. Recognition lit up her face, as she hurriedly made her way to him, carefully picking her path in order to avoid the worst of the… viscera.

“Mister X!” she called. “I was- I was sent by Isaac! You’re needed!” X brushed past her, he didn’t care. Isaac could go to hell for all he cared at the moment. “Mister X, please-“

“Tell him I’m busy,” X ordered growled, seethed, snapped.

“Oh, but Mister X, it’s an emergency!” the reploid insisted. “There’s been bombs set off and-“

“ENOUGH,” X boomed. He didn’t need to hear it. He had heard them going off as Omega had fallen, Weil cackling in the background. The reploid shrank back, fear flickering in her eyes for a second. It was then that she seemingly noticed the limp form he held tightly to his chest. “O-oh…” she whispered, franticly looking around before darting off.

Good.

Great.

Why wasn’t Zero here?

Ventilation system working overtime, X turned back around. He gently laid Axl on the ground, searching his face one last time in a desperate, desperate hope that maybe, just maybe, he’ll blink. Ask X what the long face is for. Laugh. Wink. Punch his arm. Something. Anything. Please.

But he knew.

He knew.

He fucking knew.

And so, with a heavy heart, X gently closed the prototype’s eyes one

Last

Time.

His tears gently landed on Axl’s face, giving the illusion that it was he who was crying, rather than X.

What was he supposed to do now?

The thought of making a grave passed X’s mind, but he didn’t want to entertain it.

That would mean Weil won.

That Axl was dead.

He didn’t want

He didn’t want to think about it.

The sound of footsteps alerted him to an approaching figure.

Too urgent, too heavy, too quick to be Zero.

Glancing at the figure, X didn’t recognize him; but he very obviously recognized the blue bomber. Making a straight beeline to X’s location, the new figure saluted him. X didn’t respond, causing the figure to falter for a second. “Sir, I’ve been sent with a message,” he said in a clipped manner.

X didn’t respond.

The figure hesitated.

“Sir, Maverick Hunter HQ-“

“Don’t,” he commanded. He begged. He raged. He pleaded. He cursed. He whispered. He screamed. What was he supposed to do?

No, no, no, please, no. Weil had already taken so much; please, please, don’t tell him the monster had taken more.

The messenger stood awkwardly, struggling to figure out what to do next. It was pretty obvious that the poor figure was likely pulled from the streets in order to deliver the message to X. A message he didn’t want to hear.

He didn’t want to hear.

He didn’t

He didn’t want

He didn’t want to hear.

“He needs to pay for his crimes!”

“But there’s so few left! Are we really going to throw away a brilliant mind?!”

“Are you out of your mind?! He’s the reason everything went to shit in the first place!”

It was all so… meaningless.

The squabbling, the yelling, the arguments, meaningless.

He wanted to kill him. He wanted to kill them both.

Isaac glanced over to X, concern written on his face. X didn’t care. It was all meaningless.

After a handful of reploids none of them familiar. Why were none of them familiar? were finally able to tear X away from his position kneeling over Axl’s body, Isaac had carefully, gently explained that Zero had sealed himself away; claiming fault for everything that happened. After all, he had been the source of the virus. The Dark Elf. Omega himself. It was all his fault.

X should hate him.

He really should.

But he had already lost one brother.

Why did he have to lose both.

And now, here he was. The last dregs of society demanding him to figure out what to do with Omega. With Weil. X couldn’t bring himself to even look at them. He just wanted them out of his sight. The large, white reploid still sat prone, completely worthless without its’ master to command it. Pathetic. He could almost bring up pity for the thing.

But not quite.

Weil, on the other hand, had a smug look despite half his face being covered. Prevented from speaking, he was completely at the mercy of X.

He wasn’t feeling very merciful.

It scared him.

Why, that voice asked. He’s taken everything from you.

“Enough,” X called, his patience growing thin. He just wanted them out of his sight. “There is no way to remove Omega from the suit. Not without destroying it, but there is no way to know for sure if… Weil has any sort of backup plans for that.” He had certainly had a plan to make sure nobody won if he didn’t. The doctor narrowing his eyes told X he was right on the money. He glowered down at the human. “Launch it into space,” he ordered. “It won’t be of any use where Weil cannot reach it.” The people officiating the trial glanced at each other, whispering amongst themselves. The moon had served as an adequate prison for Sigma; X hoped the same would be true of the doppelganger.

“What of Weil?” asked one brave individual.

“Toss him out of Neo Arcadia,” X demanded snarled. “I don’t care how.” He had to leave. He would do something he’d regret if he didn’t. Turning, X made his way off the podium. Isaac followed after, trying desperately to speak to him.

X ignored him.

It was all so meaningless.

Ciel helped.

But not by much.

It still hurt.

The Dark Elf’s reappearance had made him panic.

Was Weil back?

If he is, kill him.

The thoughts were getting louder.

He was slowly becoming a danger.

It scared him.

Thus, he had come to the conclusion that for the sake of everyone, he needed to seal himself away. Just as Zero did all those years ago. The Dark Elf… She had rejected the notion of fusing with X. Quite violently, in fact. But alas, his will, his anger, his agony, it was greater than her rejection. She had fallen silent once fully fused.

But it had taken it’s toll.

He was so tired.

He let himself rest.

It wasn’t so bad, simply existing in a void…

X awoke in a panic.

Greedily gulping down oxygen, he put a hand to his head. Hair. Real hair. Not the synthetic hair he was used to. He pulled it away, studying his fingers. Scars littered the hand; not from fights, not from war, not from weapons. These were all from forgetting where they were while cutting vegetables. That touching hot pans was not a good idea. A misplaced needle while fixing up a garment. Peaceful scars.

He had never been so relieved to see a scar before.

He had to take a moment to remind himself that he was no longer back there.

He was no longer a leader. Well, outside of being head of his little mishmash of a family.

He was just X.

Just as he always wished he could be.

Just as he always should have been.

The cry of a gull pulled him from his musings, causing him to glance at the clock by his bed. It was quite early; he still had an hour or so before the sun even began to rise. But the thought of trying to sleep after… that made his stomach turn. He was awake, whether he liked it or not. It was far too early to start breakfast, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t go out into the kitchen.

Barrell had gotten him addicted to coffee, after all.

Quietly making his way out of the kitchen, he turned on one of the lamps rather than the overhead lights. Levi was rather sensitive to light and had the habit of leaving her door open while she slept. The last thing he wanted to do was wake up any of the inhabitants. (Could you blame him for wanting at least a little bit of peace to himself? Eight people in a single house boat was quite the number, after all!) X made his way to the cabinet he knew held the caffeinated drink he craved; making sure to open it just right. (The darn thing squeaked if opened too quickly; he and Barrell were still trying to figure out why.)

Just as he grabbed the bag of grounds, the sound of footsteps caught his attention. X inwardly groaned; he had been so careful not to wake anyone…

“What are you doing up, dad?” asked Volnutt, his youngest. The younger carbon was rubbing at his eyes, telling X he had indeed just woken up.

“Couldn’t sleep,” X quietly sighed. “Now why are you up, young man?”

“Bathroom,” Volnutt yawned. “But I heard something, so I came to check it out.” X chuckled quietly to himself. “It’s just me,” he assured the brunette. “No need to worry. Go take care of business and get back to bed.” Volnutt blinked blearily at him, before turning to do as he was told.

Shaking his head, X prepared his coffee as quietly as he could. Filling the pot with water to pour into the chamber, placing a filter into its place, filling said filter with grounds, now all that was left was for the machine to warm up. The older carbon looked around for something to occupy the time.

Unfortunately, there wasn’t much in the kitchen. And he didn’t want to go walking around in fear of waking any more of the inhabitants.

The flush of the toilet grabbed X’s attention; he waited for the sound of running water to accompany it.

It did not occur.

That boy…

As Volnutt opened the door, X glared at him. “What?” he sleepily asked.

“You did not wash your hands, young man,” X accused, crossing his arms.

“Ah, crap,” Volnutt muttered. “Forgot.” He made the decision to walk back to his room regardless. X stared after him incredulously. “Excuse me,” the older carbon huffed. “Go wash your hands, Volnutt!”

“But daaaaaad!” Volnutt winged. “’M tired! And you said go back to bed!”

“You can go back to bed after you wash your hands!” Honestly, this boy…

Volnutt let out a scoff, but obediently turned and did as he was told. X shook his head as he chuckled at the boy’s dramatics.

He would rather have to get onto this child about washing his hands every time than spend one more second back there.

Now why wasn’t the coffee maker heating up?

As X studied the machine in an effort to figure out the reason (surely he wouldn’t be bested by a silly little machine like this!), Volnutt walked into the kitchen. X was tempted to tease him about no longer being tired, but he was far more interested in figuring out why the blasted mechanism wouldn’t give him his caffeine.

“Uh, dad?” Volnutt quietly called. X turned to him, seeing him point to a spot on the wall. The older carbon turned to see that he was pointing at an outlet.

An empty outlet.

Meaning the coffee maker wasn’t plugged in.

Well that explained it.

Huh. He was more tired than he thought.

X couldn’t help but laugh at himself, causing Volnutt to chuckle alongside him. The older brunette shook his head as he quickly plugged in the machine. Now it was making the familiar sounds of heating up. “Are you okay, dad?” Volnutt asked, genuine concern lacing every word. X gazed at his youngest, soft sigh escaping him. “Just a nightmare,” he assured the fourteen year-old. Volnutt tilted his head. “You want to talk about it?” he asked. “You always tell me that it helps.”

The former blue bomber gave his youngest a fond smile.

What had he done to deserve this child? He didn’t deserve him.

“I’ll be okay,” X insisted. “Maybe when your older, we can talk about it.” Volnutt’s face fell; X hated doing this to him, but the child had no business knowing the horrors he had been through.

He will be dead in the ground before he lets even an ounce of his past touch this child.

“What’s all the noise about?” yawned Leviathan as she blearily entered the room. “I’m trying to get my beauty sleep.”

Oops. X supposed they had been a bit too loud.

“Sorry Levi,” said Volnutt, a cheeky grin forming on his face.

Oh no.

“You definitely need it.”

Oh no.

“WHY YOU-“

“Children!” X hissed. “It is still early! Do not wake the house!”

“Is that coffee I smell?” asked Barrell, slowly making his way out of the room. X let out a defeated sigh. So much for his peaceful morning…

“HEY!” Roll called from her room. “Some people are trying to sleep!”

“Take your own advice!” Fefnir yelled from down the hall.

“Why don’t you?” argued Harpuia.

“Man, you’re all so noisy,” chuckled Phantom, slinking into the kitchen from an open window. “Couldn’t be me.”

“As if!” Volnutt argued. “You were stomping on the roof of my room all night!”

“Prove it,” Phantom smirked.

Watching the chaos unfold, X poured himself and Barrell a cup of coffee.

He wouldn’t trade this for anything.

The past was the past.

And it would stay that way.

#be quiet bruggle #writing #mmx x #x centric #musings on the results of the elfwars #one shot #legends reborn #angst muahahaha

13 notes · View notes

aaronieros · 3 months

Text

fuck it. short tumblr fic because there's no way i finish this during The Laddening. this is the madatobi tsukuyomi idea i have been ruminating on. warning for implied/referenced past necrophilia and questionable consent due to genjustu hatesex but this is just a conceptual preamble and not actual smut anyway. cannot stress enough that they do not fuck in this it's just that they're about to

It's a mistake, looking up at Madara from the ground. Reanimated, his body is immortal, and the different pattern of Madara's eye doesn't set off Tobirama's instinct to avoid the Sharingan. That may be why he lets his guard down, why he looks up from where he's pinned to lock eyes with Madara one last time.

That, or it's an old habit resurfacing. As soon as his eyes graze across Madara's, there's a sudden freedom to his body, and the noise of the ongoing war has been quieted. Madara hasn't bothered to change the scenery otherwise, but Tobirama knows where he is.

He stands, waits for Madara to state his purpose, because he surely can't have brought Tobirama here for the same reason he always used to? Not now, not while the whole fucking world is ending at his hands?

"I know what you did to my body," Madara casually tells him as he approaches.

Tobirama has to admit he never thought he'd be confronted for that, particularly by Madara himself. How, exactly, does he even know?

"You just couldn't resist letting your hands wander, linger, once you could finally touch me for real. I was only a little put off when I found out. There was something triumphant in the implicit confession that you would have instigated after all, if not for your pride."

"If not for who you are," Tobirama corrects. "Dead, you were quite agreeable. No mood swings, no Sharingan. No danger."

"Please. As if the Sharingan didn't singlehandedly allow our secret little trysts. As if the danger didn't turn you on."

There's little point in lying to Madara within his Tsukuyomi. For all that he's done, he has managed to keep his initial word that whatever occurs in this world remains confined to it, never to be mentioned in the real world.

"If it didn't, I would have killed you for trying, that first time," Tobirama tells him.

"As if it's a given that you would be able to. As if the only thing keeping me alive was your mercy."

It was the opposite, he knows. From the first time Madara caught him in Tsukuyomi, claiming he only wanted to have a private discussion-- one that spiraled and spiraled and spiraled until Madara was touching him and Tobirama couldn't think anymore-- his life should have been forfeit.

A snap of Madara's fingers sees Tobirama's armor removed, but he likes slipping his hands under Tobirama's clothes too much to bare him completely. Tobirama never understood it. He never understood why Madara even started this, nor why he kept coming back for more. The simple triumph of leaving Tobirama a sweaty mess, impossibly hard and unsatisfied within those few mere seconds that pass in the real world?

He has no decency, this man. Madara once blinked Tobirama into Tsukuyomi out in public, choosing to represent the real world, bystanders and all, within the dream world. He had them all witness, had them all react, as he fucked Tobirama in front of the whole village, and all Tobirama could do was try in vain to hide how much he enjoyed that extra effect, lest he encourage Madara to try something so obscene for real next time.

But why even do this? He knows Madara holds no fondness for him, knows he alone bears the majority of Madara's hatred. It could be a release of frustration, but it isn't even real. It's essentially just a shared fantasy, one Tobirama feels all too intimately.

"We have eight hours in this world," Madara pivots, ready to begin. "I'll be using all of them to the fullest."

It's definitely some form of psychological torture. It's about humiliation, domination. It's the fact that he got Tobirama to agree to this so many damn times. Madara must take so much pleasure in watching Tobirama submit to the power of his eyes.

"I think I'll make you come a hundred times," Madara muses with a brush of his hand down Tobirama's abdomen, but the claim gives Tobirama pause even as he instinctually shivers.

"In eight hours?" he questions, gears turning in the wrong direction entirely for this predicament.

"Don't criticize my math at a time like this," Madara scolds him.

"Not only would that be terribly unpleasant, but you won't manage it."

Madara's eyes narrow, taking Tobirama's logic as a challenge.

"Have you forgotten that I make the rules in this world?" he asks, and then his hand slides up Tobirama's shirt, splaying on his abs. His skin is oversensitized, Madara's touch hot and electric. If it managed to feel like this the whole time...

Well, it's the last time they'll ever do this. Tobirama could indulge, since he's already here.

(He's thought the same thing a dozen times in the past.)

#madatobi #it's a little spicy. just a little #i would rate it M not E #ficlet tag

21 notes · View notes

ouatsnark · 1 year

Text

What happened to Emma Swan? DEBUNKED

Ever so often the Swan Queen fandom gets it in their heads to try & tear down Emma Swan's look and character development simply because she married a man… a man who treated Emma far better than their Queen. Their arguments prove that they lack the will to understand the writing as they blatantly twist canon to fit their narrative.

"What happened to season one Emma Swan? She went from happy to miserable because of Killian Jones" - Regina Apologists

This is a prime example of how Regina Apologists are so dishonest. The two pictures on the left are promotional shots from the show. The two pictures on the right are moments from Season 6 when Emma is in distress. The first image she is watching her parents sacrifice themselves for the good of Storybrooke (while Regina, who is at fault, does nothing). The second one is when Emma was having visions of her own death. These instances have NOTHING to do with Killian Jones! However, I can find plenty of times when Emma was in distress due to Regina Mills!

I have found so many examples of them pulling this crap. I would be here all day screen capping their dishonesty.

The truth: Emma Swan wasn't happy in Season 1 & that Emma wasn't the real Emma

Yes, you heard me. Season 1 Emma wasn’t the real Emma. The real Emma was hiding behind an armor of red leather jackets, fake eye-lashes and a chip on her shoulder to keep everyone at arms length. She put on a tough bravado as an armor to protect herself from the world because she'd been hurt too many times.

But as a time passed, Emma needed less and less armor. She became more trusting and more open to love, family and happiness. When she shed that armor she let herself be more vulnerable. She became more caring toward others. Which is about the bravest thing you can do.

The more and more we saw Emma opening up to love the less armor she used. And the less armor she used, the more we hear from the Anti-CaptainSwan crowd that...

How do you go from THIS to this??? - Regina Apologist

GASP! A woman didn’t put on a bunch of make up & doll herself up for you SO SHE MUST BE MISERABLE & has no agency because she’s at the mercy of everyone!!!

Imagine degrading a woman for not wearing make up or curling their hair? You have got to be kidding me.

Also, if you really believe this, then you should be looking more favorably on Killian Jones. He obviously loved Emma for who she was and not how much make up she is wearing unlike like you fools.

Never mind that once again they grab a screen cap of when Emma is going through a tough time...and why is she going through a tough time? BECAUSE OF REGINA MILLS! Yeah, Regina's other half is trying to hurt her parents and possibly kill everyone all because Regina can't stop wanting to be evil!

The Truth: Killian Jones made Emma Swan happy

It's literally in her wedding vows. And you can see it on her face whenever she looks at him. Killian Jones helped her trust in love and not be afraid of the future.

The truth: Regina is the cause of 99% of Emma's problems

I've seen Regina stans try to say that Emma looked miserable during her vows but they fail to actually listen to what she is saying. She is not only fighting tears but when she looks away, apparently sad, she is remembering her life before Henry. She is thinking about when Henry came to get her which wasn't a happy time at all really. She was thinking about what Regina did to her and her family.

But she looks at Killian with all the happiness in her heart.

"Emma went from a badass in Season 1 to a Stepford Wife" - Regina Apologist

I love how they continue to use promo shots and bts pictures.

It’s like the Anti-CaptainSwan crowd believes that there is only one way to be a strong woman: having a chip on your shoulder, being sarcastic to everyone, never needing anyone (especially a male) and being single (unless its w|w). They just don’t like the fact that Emma not only chose her own path but fights for everyone and not just their precious queen.

I have actually heard Rumple stans call Emma a Stepford wife as well because she chose Hook over Rumple's cowardly son Neal. Which is just hysterical since Belle is literally a Stepford wife. She ignores all of his abuse, his bad deeds and his manipulation and stays with him.

The Truth: Emma Swan was still a badass after getting together with Killian Jones:

S4 taking down dragon Lily

S4 telling grumpy to back off before she turns him into stumpy (hey you thought sarcasm was badass? there you go!)

S4 taking on the darkness to save the town

S4 defeating Cruella to save Henry

S5 going up against Nimue

S5 confronting Rumple about him being the Dark One again

S5 doing what she had to do and knowing she had to destroy Dark Hook

S5 telling Regina to fix her own damn problems for once cause Emma was done doing it for her

S6 going up against Wish Hook.

S6 going up against the Serum Queen

S6 sacrificing herself for Gideon and destroying the dark fairy

Furthermore, if Emma was that dependent on Killian Jones then she would not have left the Underworld without him. But she did leave him for the sake of Henry and others who needed her.

DEBUNKING MYTHS

Emma is complex but SQers fail to accept Emma’s evolution because it didn’t involve her becoming Regina’s doormat in every aspect of her life.

I know it's hard for Regina Mills stans to spot character growth, since their queen didn't have one, but Emma Swan and Killian Jones are where the most character growth happened. They evolved into much better people as the series came to a close.

Here are some things I've seen when talking about Emma's evolution or about her being worse off with Killian Jones than she would have been with Regina or Neal. And lets be real here, Emma was worse off with Regina as a friend. That is just a fact.

THEY NEVER ACKNOWLEDGE REGINA'S TRUE ROLE

I will see them talk circles around Regina's role in Emma's life to avoid putting blame where it should be and that is directly on Regina Mills. They will say things like "The Charmings abandoned Emma" but The Charmings didn’t just abandon Emma. THEY SAVED HER LIFE with the hope that Emma would return to save the entire kingdom FROM REGINA. Regina was going to murder infant Emma.

They will also go on about how Killian and Emma were enemies at first. Killian Jones was never as much of an enemy to Emma like Regina Mills was. Regina emotionally and physically hurt Emma and destroyed her life.

MYTH: EMMA WAS ONLY AT HER BEST IN SEASON ONE OR WITH REGINA

As mentioned above, they prefer closed off and alone Emma. However, Emma was at her best when she let down her walls & allowed herself to love. A heart full of love is beautiful. But love to Regina apologists only looks like Emma bowing to Regina. Well. Emma was closed off, negative, sarcastic & willing to overlook all of Regina’s shit for the sake of Henry. Allowing someone to put you down the way Emma allows Regina is NOT someone at their best.

Emma at her best understands sacrifices for the greater good, forgiveness, mercy & the strength of love. That was Emma during all 7 seasons. Actually, Emma showed Regina way too much mercy (Rumple too, in fairness).

MYTH: EMMA WAS FORCED TO CHOOSE HOOK

Anyone who says that Emma was forced to be with Hook because Killian & her parents "pressured her" or "made her" is hating Emma Swan. This is a bunch of fanon nonsense & not canon. No one was forcing Emma. You can’t point to a single scene or dialog that suggests that. Quite the opposite in fact.

You don’t fight for something as hard as Emma fought for her happy ending if it’s not what you want. Remember that Snow & David were against saving Hook in Camelot. They were more concerned about Emma. Hell, Killian Jones was more concerned about Emma's future than living! He wanted her to choose her life over his! It was Emma’s idea to go get Hook in the Underworld & everyone was against it at first (cause who just walks into the Underworld??). If Emma's parents were pushing her towards anyone it was Neal. So, no, no one was forcing Emma to be with Hook. When Charming gives his blessing to Hook he says that the final decision is up to Emma.

If you truly believe that Emma was forced to be with Hook then you don't understand Emma Swan. Emma didn't do anything that Emma didn't want to do. Remember when Emma was dead set on running back to New York in season 3? No one was going to change her mind. She had to find out on her own that life with Henry and her parents in Storybook was indeed home. Emma was perfectly capable of making her own decisions.

MYTH: GETTING MARRIED AND HAVING CHILDREN WAS NOT SEASON ONE EMMA'S HAPPY ENDING

Says who!? When did Emma say this? Emma didn’t want a family? GTFOH with that BS. More fanon that isn’t backed up by canon. She THOUGHT she wanted that life with Neal (re-watch Tallahassee). But after his betrayal she packed that side of her away for fear of being hurt again. You’re mistaking her protective armor for who she really is.

And furthermore proving that you don't know what character growth looks like. People change so characters should as well. Well written characters evolve.

MYTH: EMMA DIDN'T PUT HERSELF FIRST ANYMORE BECAUSE OF HOOK & WAS A SHELL OF HER FORMER SELF

Putting those you love first is a sign of unconditional love. I know that’s hard to understand since your queen is a self-centered bitch who never put anyone first… but Emma is different. And just because she wanted to be with her family doesn’t mean she wasn’t putting what she wanted first.

Emma being a shell of herself is a personal opinion. Emma evolved. She had many more layers by the time S6 rolled around. As I said above, her personality in S1-2 was a part of her armor as much as that jacket was. And to say she still wasn’t kicking ass in S6 is a lie. She sacrificed her life so a child would get his life back. Being a hero & putting others first is a strength of character. It’s honorable. Again, I know that’s hard seeing that Regina was 100% focused on her own happy ending but Emma was different. She is a character worth emulating because of her goodness, love and willingness to fight for others.

MYTH: THE CHARMINGS' & HOOK'S LOVE WAS CONDITIONED ON HER BEING THE SAVIOR AND BEING WITH HOOK

You just don’t like that she wanted Hook & not Regina. It’s also complete fanon that Emma’s acceptance depended on her being the savior & loving a man. The Charmings were too cautious about her relationship with Hook to be forcing that on her. They wanted her to be happy & when they saw she was, they accepted him. Also Hook’s love wasn’t dependent on her being the savior. Remember the scissors? Hook kept those suckers because her life meant more to him than her title.

#cs hate debunked #anti neal cassidy #anti swanqueen #anti regina mils #emma swan #killian jones #captain swan #anti rumbelle #what the hell did that regina apologist just say

248 notes · View notes

motherofplatypus · 10 months

Text

Miraculous Finale Review: Part 2 (Recreation)

Welcome back y'all, I hope you had a nice break from Conformation, because we are continuing our ride to the abyss.

You think S3 ending was bad? You think Simpleman was bad? You think Ephemeral was bad? You think Penalteam was bad? You think Evolution was bad? You think Destruction was bad? You think DERISION was bad? Well, say hello to Recreation, where you'll be taken for a long ride to the tunnel of The Writers Gonna Prove You're Wrong By Showing You How Much Worse They Could Go.

Yeah, idk why i put that gif there, but i really like it when i found it.

Anyway, may the great lord have mercy on the poor souls watching this episode. Because this? This is just a huge, massive, gigantic, gargantuan, cosmic, heaven through hell level of no. In every single way possible. This is a disgrace on every writers out there. Everything is so wrong that I don't even know where to start.

I'll just go with something small and talk about the fight between Bugnoire (ugh) and Monarch. Remember when Hawkmoth beat the crap out of both heroes with just the butterfly miraculous, a miraculous that's not designed for a direct fight? Now he has one that can one hit K.O, one that can transport him anywhere, two that grants defense, one that can transform him into any element, one that can paralyze the opponent by showing them their deepest desire, one that can grant any superpower (stupid power), one that can disrupt his opponents power, one that can shrink and multiply himself where each of his replica can use the One Hit K.O power, and one that literally can turn back time (sure he can't use it anymore since it eats away his life, but desperate time takes desperate measures).

There's countless combination where he can win with literally no effort. How the hell did he lose, if not because of divine level plot armor?

And the way Ladybug (I aint calling her Bugnoire. But I'll admit i like the costume) so easily took the rings? Something that should've happened in Intuition? So not only did they kick Adrien out from the finale, they also had to insult his intelligence by showing how easy it was for Mari to do it. Hooray for Girl Power That Exist By Degrading Male Characters Into Moronic Dumbass Creatures.

Also, Ladybug now can summon a Lucky Charm to her liking? I mean, a piano, a baseball bat, and handcuffs? And she can do it infinitely now. So what's the point of the goat miraculous then?

"But the cat and tiger have similar power."

The cat caused bad things to happen to whatever they touch, and those bad things tend to be destructive. The tiger only cause destruction by punching it real hard Sure, Ladybug has more utility whereas goat has more flexibility in terms of power, but I'm adding it here because it's just total BS.

And we were robbed of LB and CN vs Monarch, but I already rant about it in part one, so I'll save room for other points.

Quick reminder on previous post, remember the whole quantum essence thingy that makes those walking Q-Tips able to track Ladybug because they're inserted with the essence of both the Ladybug and Black Cat power? Now Bugnoire has both, why aren't they going after her?

On to the next one, how is Lila isn't affected by the nightmare? And no, I'm not buying the "She actually got it, but it's off-screen" excuse. She already used it on her sudden friendship with Kagami, and if you think that excuse can be used again, in the finale, you're dead wrong.

Then things got worse with the end credit scene where Lila (she called herself Iris, but i refuse to call her that) just rolled in to a new school just by asking Damocles to let her in. Hello? Administration? I get it if she's the mayor's kid or something, but she's nobody. Classic miraculous, you never fail to disappoint me with your lack of logic.

Speaking of lack of logic, we got Mirakungfu (?) Luka and co. Just when i thought the show couldn't get any worse with their lack of explanation (sarcasm), they introduced this.

Where or when or why or how any of this was written in without prior hint or scene or anything that isn't going to get explained from a tweet where That Guy gonna block anyone who as slightly as disagreeing with him, i have absolutely no idea, and I'm used to it. I mean, sure, why not? Drop all the plot convenience, plot armor, retcon, and Deus Ex Machina in the finale. Heck, I'm suprised that Goku and Naruto didn't appear to find the One Piece under the Eiffel Tower and they become the World's Greatest Chef to finally defeat the Founding Titan who controls an army of Shinigami.

Dear Neptune, who the hell wrote this scene?

Makes sense.

And I honestly don't know how it could get any worse, but at the same time we know it will get worse.

And Su-Han, you said you left to get some help from the temple in Multiplication, where is that help? Don't tell me the help is Luka and co who just learned how to kick asses off screen a few weeks ago? Good grief.

Still talking about the Mirakung-fuck-the-logic, we got Bunnyx. Yeaaaay. Oh wait, it's the adult version. The younger one still exiled.

What did she said? She can't meddle with the present, but Luka and co can? Yeah, that's right, and she proceeds to transport them to Paris, which literally her meddling with the present.

"Well she's not actually doing something there, so technically she's not wrong."

Technicality, technicality. Well technically I'm gonna whoop yo arse with a baseball bat if i met you, writers. Be ready.

Moving on to Gabriel's wish. He won, hooray or oh nooo, I couldn't care about it anymore. Anyway, we're shown how to make the wish, by calling the true form of Tikki and Plagg and call upon Gimmi.

First off, it's a waste of time showing their true form if in the end you're just gonna call someone else. It's like having the reception to dress like a queen just to ask them where the manager is. But you all know why this happen, since they need more dolls to sell.

Second, if all he needs to do is to call their true form, then why on heaven through hell didn't he just do that in Deflagration? He doesn't need to unify them, he just need to call. His victory was literally at hand and he can win, but OF COURSE they gotta drag things even further because they forbid logic to even exist in this stupid show! This is the entire conflict of the show, his main goal, and something he already knows how to do it, so tell me why on earth did—y'know what? Fuck it. I never see anyone complain about this plot hole, so certainly its not even relevant.

And now, the time has come, to talk about the reasons why this finale is not only bad, it's straight up something that will go down in cinema history as the worst thing that could ever exist. So take a deep breath, cause we're near the end.

The pure, unfiltered, audacity they had to not letting Adrien learn the truth of either his father and Chat Blanc. The two most important things of his character, all gone wasted. All because they forbid this boy to show actual emotion and becomes an interesting character that exist outside of being a simp and a trophy wife.

"But he know about Chat Blanc from his nightmare."

Mate, that's his nightmare. Nightmare is terrifying, but it's not real. We know that's something that happened, but he doesn't. That's just a horrible nightmare that he constantly has because of the akuma. He never know that it's actually real, and will never know.

Plus, that's Anticat, not Chat Blanc. Different name, different identity, different everything, but the same BS.

And then another pure, unfiltered, audacity of Gabe telling Marinette to not tell Adrien about the villain he is but instead the time he tried to be a good father? This is the funniest joke I've ever heard in the show.

What exactly did you try to do to be a good father? Making pancakes that even flies said "I ain't eating that shit"?

You literally imprisoned your son, never spent time with him until you know you're dying, cut him off from society, make him as your forced labor for your brand against his will and violates the rights of children, not letting him love the girl he wants, forcing him to get together with his ex, fly him off to the other side of the world away from his friends, akumatized people that you know is after him, gave your son nightmare to get your ultimate plan to work, using parental authority to abuse him mentally, and you were trying to turn him into a villain!

Audacity.

And then there's another pure, unfiltered, audacity of making Marinette (deep sigh) forgave Gabriel.

"But she didn't actually forgave him."

She showed him kindness. She offered him another chance in his last moment. After everything he did. After all the people he hurt. After he literally responsible for her losing her life as a teenager.

He turned your whole family into villains, the whole world into mindless puppets, turned a pregnant lady into a villain, and have you forgotten that he turned your partner into a literal world destroyer that gave you PTSD? Sure, Chloe made you suffer and you won't forgive her, but him? Who did the same, if not universally worse? You could show him kindness?

"But it's because she's worried about Adrien—"

Adrien. Adrien. ADRIEN! THE PERFECT BOY THE PERFECT SON THE PERFECT THIS AND THAT AND AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH I HATE THAT GUY! HE IS ONLY PERFECTLY WASTED AND USELESS! SNAP HIM OUT OF EXISTENCE RIGHT NOW! HIS EXISTENCE RUINED EVERYTHING!

I would love to end things right there and then because I'm sick of it. But no, the king of the worst thing to ever exist in history have yet to be talked about. This is the realest and most absolute fucked up thing in history of kids show.

Gabe becomes a hero

I know we shouldn't ask what they were thinking, but just why? What did he do to deserve a statue and the title of a hero? He's a fashion designer in public eyes, and that's about it. But that's not what's fucked up about it.

How could you even think that a girl who was mentally abused by her mother, never raised properly by her father, had to ask her mother why she doesn't love her, never known love, was disowned by her father for his own incompetence of raising her, and left with her abusive mother to be raised with most likely another series of abuse, as someone who is irredeemable?

And how could you even think that a terrorist, who's so fully aware and willingly imprisoned his son, cut him off from social life, prevents him from loving someone he choose, literally turned him into his slave to work for his business, and who would straight up beat him up once he learn he's a superhero, as a sympathetic villain?

"But people in the show doesn't know that."

Yes. That's true. But we know. We've seen what he had done. We've seen how rotten he is. We've seen how slowly crumbling into dust is a fate he deserves and we enjoy every second of it. And yet, after every vile things he had done, until the very end, Thomas and co still putting him under the "sympathetic villain" spotlight.

I know many of you who read this will try to defend Thomas and the writing. Trying to reason and excuse what he did here. But I'm sorry, I will not accept it. Even if he apologize, i will not accept it. Because this is beyond messed up. This is basically him spitting on the face of people who have been abused. This is him saying abuser deserves to be glorified.

Tell me folks: what logical reason do you have that you see a child abuser as someone who deserves to be seen as a hero?

This is no longer a matter of whether someone is an asshole or not. This is concerning on terrifying level.

I'm here to say this once, to all of you who still support the show: I'm concerned and sorry for you. The show that you loved, the show that brought you joy, the show that you may have recommended to other people and praise it, it was created by a monster.

Im not even gonna bother scoring it. This is not something that kids should watch. The message is too horrible to be let slide. It doesn't matter how good the animation and action is, they've spat on victims of abuse, and they're happy with it.

That being said, this has been my review. You can agree or disagree, just keep it civil with someone else who have an opinion. I know i might missed a lot of points, and I'm genuinely sorry if in the last part of this post i might be a bit too offensive even for salt post standard. But now, I'd like to hear your opinion. Was i exaggerating stuff or i made a wrong statement. Was i wrong for calling That Guy like that? Let me know, cuz you might help me see things in a different light.

46 notes · View notes

pizza-writes · 1 year

Text

Just in Time

A Clone Fic Gift Exchange Special

Pairing: Echo x GN PlusSized!Reader

Summary: y/n discovers the consequences of crossing an evil businessman.

Prompt: “It’s alright, Cyar’ika, I’m here now.”

Warnings: death threat, anxiety, jump scare. Other than that there’s a bunch of fluff, Echo being a heartthrob, and Omega being the younger sister we all wish we had

Rating: General audience

Notes: This is a special gift for @eyes-of-the-rave! I hope you enjoy! This is set in early season 2 so it doesn't really have spoilers.

@cloneficgiftexchange thanks again for hosting this event! It’s been such an amazing opportunity and the thrill of seeing people’s’ creativity has been so worth it.

Word Count: 2.5k

“You’d better pay up before I see you again,” he drawled, toying with his blaster, “or I’ll be forced to do something about you.” Your eyes widened as you searched his expression for any sign of mercy.

“Like what?” You cursed smile that you donned as you spoke. “You’re a sensible businessman, Darig. You would lose tenants if you–”

“You’ve been warned, y/n. Let’s hope, for your sake, that you can scrap up those credits in time.”

When Echo looked up, his eyes flicked immediately to the splash of pastel color in the drab cockpit. A smile tugged at his lips as he watched you listen intensely to Omega as she told a Phee-esc story. The way your face lit up at certain details that Omega dramatized… you looked so happy.

He could spend hours with you. Something about you radiated life—it was like you knew the colors inside of you could enhance each moment and everyone around you, so you wore them on your sleeve. At first, it was frustrating seeing how bubbly you were when he was so used to being with war-hardened soldiers, but it didn’t take long before everything about you was endearing. Of course, Echo could never have the guts to say this. Maybe he’d drop hints—the raising of his brows whenever you were mentioned; letting his eyes linger a little too long as you walked past; extra smiles while you talked to him.

Someone laid a hand on his shoulder and he started, looking up at a smug Hunter. “You might have some competition,” Echo rolled his eyes.

“You see me keeping track?”

Hunter chuckled. “I would be lying if I said no,”

Echo looked back at you and Omega. The younger had begun to act out something she’d done—by now he had gathered enough context from his just now tuning in to know Omega was telling about a mission a few weeks ago that she had headed. It wasn’t often that the kid took charge, but she was the best option they had on overt operations when y/n wasn’t there. Nobody notices a kid in a crowd.

“And then Echo burst in and POW POW POW!! Just in time, he took out the rest of them before they could get me!”

You turned and met his eyes and Echo swore his stomach did a flip. “Oh really? And did you thank your knight in shining armor?” Omega frowned in thought.

“I don’t think so.” She bounded over and practically jumped into his arms to give him a smothering hug. “Thanks, Echo!”

He chuckled, returning the hug. They were getting a lot more frequent, so they didn’t catch him by surprise like they used to. “Anytime, kid.”

She skipped back over to y/n to finish the story. Hunter clapped Echo’s shoulder and sat in the chair opposite him. It wasn’t long before they arrived at Ord Mantell and Tech came and took Omega’s seat.

I’ll be forced to do something about you.

When the Marauder touched down you got up and stretched, stiff from the long trip and shaky from your overworking mind. You retrieved your gear, hardly registering the others as you made for the door. When you were young it didn’t take much to ease your fears. You had a vivid memory of your mother’s beautiful eyes peering into yours as she told you a story. Her soothing voice distracted you from your trembling body and hot tears as she carried you off into another galaxy. Now you couldn’t recall what made you so afraid that day.

You had hoped storytime with Omega would have a similar effect, but upon doing a quick evaluation, you accepted that you weren’t as easy to calm down anymore. Of course, child-you didn’t often have death threats looming over them. You kept your head down as you walked, searching for any kind of hope to cling to. Sometimes your landlord was out of town, so perhaps you wouldn’t see him this time. You wouldn’t have to uncover that “something” that he’d threatened. Occasionally you didn’t stop by your flat for several weeks, so he might not suspect anything. The reasoning didn’t offer much in ways of comfort, but often looking for hope in dark places provides such results.

Back in Cid’s parlor, you sat on a bench by the far wall, foot tapping as you tried to come up with solutions to your dilemma. You had only earned a third of the credits you needed. You knew that going outside was hardly an option. Darig had eyes everywhere. You just hoped that your presence hadn’t been reported already. It would be a surprise if Cid herself hadn’t told him.

“You hungry, y/n?” Wrecker called, breaking you from your haze. “We’re gonna grab a bite.”

You glanced at the floor and bit your cheek. “If it’s not a hassle, could you bring me something back? I’m really tired.”

Echo said, “You know what? Bring me something too.”

The others left and Echo crossed to you, plopping onto the bench.

“You didn’t have to stay,”

“Probably not, but I have a few reasons.” He gestured to his bionic legs and swung the right one out. It lurched unnaturally as he moved it. “It’s been acting up for a few rotations but Tech hasn’t had the time or equipment to fix it yet. That and your other company,” Echo paused, eyes turning to the bar for a moment, “isn’t the most trustworthy.”

“We haven’t given her any reasons to betray us,”

“Yet,”

You sighed, nodding at his sentiment. Your mind drifted back to its present default.

Echo said, “You’ve been really quiet since we got back,”

You bit your lip, face warm. “Oh, I’m sorry,”

“It’s alright. We all have our days.” He said. “Need to talk about anything?”

You hesitated, wondering if it would be too much to put on him. “It’s probably not something you can fix. You’re all in your own kind of financial struggles.”

He hummed. “Humor me,”

“I’m a little behind on my rent,” You sighed. “I have some of the credits to pay it off, and I was hoping that with my being gone so often with you boys that my landlord would be a little kinder,”

“But he hasn’t been,” Echo frowned.

“Yeah,”

“Maybe you could get some credits from Cid. Omega once paid off all our debts to her in a day of playing dejarik,”

You shrugged, “What could I offer Cid? There’s not much I can do for her other than what I already am. I think I’ll just avoid my landlord. Maybe I can pay my debt off next time we’re here.”

Some time later the boys returned with a couple of food boxes, which Echo retrieved for the both of you. You immediately noticed Tech’s distress as he trailed in behind everyone else. You were about to mention it when he addressed Echo:

“I finally located the calibrator necessary to readjust the motor for the hydraulics on your cybernetics but it’s all but destroyed. The only explanation I can render is that somebody used it without my knowledge and then failed to put it away correctly.”

You poked at the food in front of you, wondering where the kriff those guys decided to pick it up from. It smelled alright though, so you tried it. Though, as you tuned back into the conversation, your appetite slowly diminished.

“I’m concerned that should you continue to use that leg, it can cause damage due to overcompensation. Frankly, I am unsure of what other side effects there will be. To be safe, until I have the proper tools to fix it, you need to keep the knee joint’s movement to a minimum.”

“Tech, you can’t expect me to not walk for however long it takes you to find this thing.”

“I said minimum, not zero. Just know that the more you use it, you’re raising the chances of us having to do much more than fix a motor. That takes time and credits.”

You listened in with a sour expression. All they needed was a calibrator. You had one but there was one tiny issue with it. It was at your flat.

“How difficult would it be to get that tool?” You said.

“Unsure. It’s not a common instrument.”

You folded your arms and sighed, catching a look from both Tech and Echo.

“I have a calibrator at my flat. If you need it, I’ll get it.”

Echo cut in. “What about your landlord?”

“I’ll avoid him. How hard could it be?”

Your trembling limbs cursed your frivolous statement at Cid’s. How hard could it be to evade Darig? You should have asked how hard it would be to get to your flat without having a breakdown. The walk itself was difficult without being terrified—even with your new exercise routine with Wrecker every day, mundane tasks still wore you out. That was the nature of being heavy, which could prove inconvenient at times, regardless that you accepted it. At this point in life, you were exhausted by people seeing fat as negative, so you’d made it your goal to keep any self-talk positive. You only hoped that the goodness you offered yourself shined through to others.

The flat came into view, tearing you from your thoughts. Your heart pounded so loud you wondered if it might explode. Armed with a blaster and determination, you paved through the thick air.�� You snuck into your flat, every noise alerting you. It didn’t take long to find the tool but it felt like you searched for years. With the calibrator in hand, you looked around to be sure you didn’t need anything else.

You slinked back to the door and took a moment to ground yourself before you moved on. You pressed a button and the door swooshed open. A silhouette floored you. His silhouette. You screamed and jumped back. His gloved hand caught your shirt. A blaster pushed against you. He walked you backward until your back pressed flush against the wall.

“I thought you were smarter than this, y/n.”

“I’m so sorry—”

“Sorry won’t pay your rent.” Darig stepped away, looking around the small room a moment before his dark eyes locked on yours. “I have built up a reputation. I would not be here had I been a liar along the way. Pray tell… do you recall our conversation last time we met?”

You stared at him, frozen. If you could only reach your blaster…

“Yes,”

“So you know what I must do.”

You racked your brain for answers. Frowning, you replayed that vivid memory. Then something clicked. “No—you never told me what you would do.”

He cocked his head. “Oh?”

“You said you’d have to do something about me. You never said anything specific. You wouldn’t be a liar if you let me go—”

Darig tutted and examined a spot on the floor. “I suppose I didn’t then, did I?”

“I’ll pay twice what I owe you. Just give me a little more time.”

“I’ve given you time.” He hissed. He aimed his blaster at you. “And now… well, now it looks like you’re out of it.”

“Speak for yourself,” came a gritty voice from the open door. Blaster fire lit up the flat. Darig collapsed. You would have followed had you not been so close to the wall. It took a moment to focus on the newcomer and once you finally did, you nearly cried.

“Echo—kriff, I thought—oh, maker…”

He closed the distance between you and holstered his blaster, drawing you into a hug.

His warmth washed over you. “It’s alright, cyar’ika. I’m here now,”

“Thank you so much,” You drew a shaky breath.

He pulled away and offered a smile, though his brows were furrowed. Then his expression fell. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

“I will be,” You managed. “He didn’t do anything.”

He nodded, letting out a long breath. His attention turned back to Darig.

“How did you know to come?”

His wide eyes examined the room before turning back to you, “I had a feeling.” Then, “We need to go.”

Relief flooded over you as you sat at one of the booths and watched Tech work on Echo’s cybernetics. Tech’s immediate complaints about the usage of Echo’s leg upon his return still had you humored. Of course, the genius was worried about nothing, and Echo’s knee didn’t end up breaking down like he predicted it would.

Cid made her way over to you and sat across the table, looking you in the eye. “You and your boys really like ticking off the big names, huh?” She sighed, “I made arrangements. As long as you’re working for me, you have my protection.”

“You have them on a leash too, huh?”

She squinted. “That’s not a very nice thing to say to your only defense from his goons. I had to pull a lot of strings for this to work.”

“Thank you, Cid.” You smiled with a small hint of playfulness only visible if one were to look hard enough.

“Watch it, kid,” She eyed you, getting up. “That extra protection isn’t free… Speaking of which, why didn’t you ask for help paying your rent? I woulda offered you a job in here.”

“I dunno. I assumed you wouldn’t want my help.”

She huffed, speaking as she walked away. “You kiddin’? If you did work here I’d have more time to work on building my empire. And with the new debt you owe me, you might wanna consider this an offer.”

Cid moseyed into her office and you glanced at Tech and Echo. They both had the same look in their eyes: that crustation can’t be serious. You bit back a grin. Tech shook his head and returned his focus to Echo, muttering something as he worked on the leg.

From Hunter and Wrecker’s side of the room, Omega took Cid’s leave as an opportunity to claim the seat next to yours. You had explained the run-in with Darig as soon as you’d returned, leaving out no details. As you’d talked, you hinted at a plan to move out, and Hunter caught on. He offered you a place on the team full time and you said you’d let him know even though you knew the answer already.

“I’m glad you’re okay, y/n.” Omega hugged your arm.

“All thanks to him,” You glanced up at Echo, heart swimming as you pictured the way he looked into your eyes as he made sure you were alright. You could get lost in those eyes for an eternity. You turned to Omega and smiled.

“This all has me thinking, I’m really glad I have you all. You’re like my family.”

“Well, yeah,” She sat up and looked at her brothers. “We love you a lot. I know we don’t always show it—especially them. They’re not used to showing love, but you’re really helping them learn. Especially Echo. He’s a lot happier with you here.”

You chuckled, knowing exactly what she meant.

“Remember the story you were telling me on the way here?”

“About the mission?”

“Yeah… You were right about something. Echo really does come just in time.”

//~//~//

I hope you liked it! This was so much fun to write!!

Don't forget to comment and reblog to show support for the artists of tumblr <3

masterlist • clone fic gift exchange masterlist

#the bad batch #tbb x reader #the bad batch one shots #tbb #the bad batch fanfic #the batch batch x reader #echo tbb #echo x reader #hunter tbb #tech tbb #wrecker tbb #omega tbb #the bad batch echo x reader #cloneficgiftexchange

107 notes · View notes